


A Love Most Improbable

by TheresaWritesStuff



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beauty and the Beast Fusion, Beauty and the Beast Elements, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-02-07 20:26:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12848868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheresaWritesStuff/pseuds/TheresaWritesStuff
Summary: Molly Hooper always dreamed of a life outside of her small provincial village. But when her brother Greg goes missing, she finds herself at the heart of an adventure beyond her wildest dreams. Is there something more to her mysterious captor? Could she be the one to break the spell? It's a tale as old as time...(Sherlolly Beauty and the Beast AU with a few twists for good measure)





	1. Provincial Life

**Author's Note:**

> Not gonna lie, this fic is really self indulgent for me because it is combining two of my favorite fandoms... It's gonna be fun I promise! 
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. I'm occasionally lazy about proof reading...But only because I am excited to get the story out there for you!
> 
> Okay enough from me...Enjoy!

 

Once upon a time, in the hidden heart of a forgotten countryside, a young prince lived in a shining castle.  Although he had one of the greatest minds in the world, with every book and resource he could ever desire at his disposal, the prince instead chose to revel in intoxication. Though he had once been a curious, kind hearted youth, he had allowed himself to become cold and cruel, treating others like a puzzle to be solved and wearing solitude like a shield.

Then one winter’s night, as he sat brooding by the fire, an old beggar woman came to the castle seeking shelter from the storm. The cold east wind whipped around her hooded form, sending a chill through the prince as eddies of snow began to drift across his velvet slippers. With a white wizen hand, she offered the prince a single rose in return for shelter and conversation to ease her weary soul. Deeming her unworthy of his time, the prince turned the old woman away. But she warned him not to be deceived by appearances, for they are seldom all they seem. When the prince dismissed her again, the old woman removed her hood and her ugliness melted away, revealing a beautiful raven haired enchantress.

The prince tried to apologize but it was too late, for she had seen the coldness of his heart. As punishment, she transformed him into a monstrous beast, and placed a powerful spell on the castle and all who were within its walls. The enchantress concealed the castle from view, erasing it and the prince from the memories of his people, leaving him with only an enchanted mirror as a window to the outside world.

The rose she had offered was truly an enchanted rose which would bloom for many years. If he could learn to open his heart and love another, earning their love in return by the time the last petal fell, then the spell would be broken. If not, he would be doomed to remain a beast for all time. As the years past, he fell into despair and lost all hope. For who could ever learn to love a beast?

 

*****

  
Molly smiled to herself as she took in the early rays of morning on her way into the village square. The smell of freshly baked bread drifted to her nose as the smiling face of the baker came into view.

“Morning Angelo,” Molly said cheerily.

“Good morning Molly,” the jolly bearded man greeted her. “The usual?”

“Please and thank you,” she replied with a smile as he loaded a still piping hot baguette into her bag.

“And a cinnamon roll for you and your brother. I must have miscounted and made an extra this morning.” Angelo smiled conspiratorially before asking in a more serious tone, “How is Gregory fairing lately?”

Molly pressed her lips together before answering honestly, “He has his good days and his bad days. But I do believe the good days are becoming more frequent.”

“Let’s hope he continues that way.” He placed a burly hand on her shoulder, giving her an encouraging squeeze before turning back to his work.

Molly chuckled as she brushed the floured handprint from her sleeve, continuing into the heart of town. She loved walking through the square at this time of day, before the hustle and bustle of shoppers kicked up the dust and filled the air with the sound of haggled deals and idle gossip. 

The peal of a cheery bell announced her entrance into the apothecary shop.

“Good morning Michael,” Molly called. “I’ve come to return the book I borrowed.”

“I’ll be right with you, Miss Hooper,” the apothecary called from the back room.

At the sound of clanking bottles mixed with Michael’s muttering, Molly let herself in behind the counter.

“Would you like some assistance?” she asked, finding him atop a ladder, arms full of assorted glass containers.

“Very much so,” The portly man replied gratefully as he handed her his load.

“So tell me, did you enjoy that one as much as the last dozen times you’ve read it?” he teased, making his way down the ladder steps.

“What can I say? Beatrice feels like a kindred spirit,” Molly laughed as she shifted her glass laden apron to retrieve his copy of Much Ado About Nothing from her bag.

“The whole fake death plotline always seemed a bit unnecessary to me, personally, but who am I to argue with the great bard himself?” Michael mused. “Oh! I almost forgot. I recently acquired a new volume on toxins that I thought you might find interesting.”

“Sounds fascinating!” Molly replied, reorganizing the shelves as she emptied the contents of her apron.

“Indeed. I look forward to reading your notes when you’re finished.” Michael handed her the leather bound volume.

“I’ll do my best to keep them legible.” Molly smiled. “Thank you again. For everything. I can’t tell you how much it means to me to have a friend here who takes my opinion seriously.”

Michael shrugged. “What are old chums for? Besides, you know Amelia would have my hide if I didn’t after all you did for us when she had the twins.”

Molly nodded as she suppressed a grin, knowing all too well how much of a spitfire Mrs. Stamford was. She was barely up to Molly’s chin, yet Amelia could strike fear into the heart of every man in the village.

“Give my love to her, won’t you?”

“Always,” Michael assured her.

Smiling at her friend, Molly ducked out the door to begin her journey back home.

She hummed to herself as she meandered through the square, nose deep in the chapter on Nightshade when the sound of her name drew her back to reality.

She looked up to see Philip Anderson attempting to catch up to her.

“Good morning, Philip. How are you this morning?” she greeted as the lanky man stepped around the cart that was in his way.

“I am well, thank you. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.” He gestured to the book in her hand.

“Just a little light reading for the walk home.” Molly shrugged.

“Any good so far?” Philip asked.

“Wonderful! I’ve already learned so much and I’m only a few pages in. Did you know there are over 2,000 species of Nightshade?” she replied excitedly.

Philip laughed. “You are a funny girl, Miss Hooper. I won’t keep you, I only wanted to inquire how Greg is fairing. I’ve been meaning to stop by for—“

“Molly Hooper. You look more radiant every time I see you,” interrupted the shorter gentleman that sauntered over to greet them from a nearby shop.

“James.” Molly nodded politely, doing her best not to roll her eyes.

“New book I see. What grand adventure are you off to this time?” James flashed her a charming smile as he plucked the book from her hands. His eyebrows raised as he flipped through the pages. “My, my. Not exactly your typical garden varieties, are they? I do hope you were not planning on serving any of these this evening,” he quipped with a wink.

“Not unless you were planning on joining us. May I have my book back, please?” she said, putting on a tight lipped smile.

“Shall I take that as an invitation?” James grinned, extending the book to her before tilting it back towards his chest. “It is a bit of an unsavory topic for a lady such as yourself, don’t you think? I would have thought fairytales more fitting to your taste.”

“What I choose to read is not your concern,” Molly replied evenly, extracting the book from his hand. “Now if you gentlemen will excuse me, I must be getting home.”

“Of course.” James nodded understandingly.

“Do give Greg my regards, won’t you?” Philip requested.

Molly nodded as she took her leave, walking briskly through the square.

James hummed in thought as he watched her depart. “Molly Hooper certainly is an interesting creature,” he remarked admiringly.

“I suppose,” Philip agreed uncomfortably.

James patted the taller man on the back. “Excellent work distracting her while I was caught up with the Jimbettes. Wouldn’t do for my future wife to catch me while Irene was whispering delicious tidbits in my ear.”

“I thought you were kidding when you proposed that nickname for the girls,” Philip scoffed. “…are you still intending to propose to Miss Hooper? There are other much more available women who would give you less trouble.”

“Yes but you know how I like a challenge. And she’s the only girl that gives me that sense of…” James gestured with his hand as he searched for the word.

“Je ne sais quoi?” Philip offered.

“No that’s not it…” James sighed. “She was the first girl to catch my eye as a lad. But then her family moved for her father’s business and she was gone from my life. No girl has ever compared to her since. She is the one that got away. And now that she has returned, the hunt may at last continue. Don’t you worry, old friend, I have a plan to win Molly Hooper’s hand. And you’re going to help me. You will help me, won’t you?”

Philip smiled gently at his compatriot. “Of course. Anything for you.”

*****  
  
  
“Greg? I’m home,” Molly called as she entered the kitchen, setting her things down on the table. The little cottage was quiet as she searched the house for her elder half-brother. She eventually found him in the barn reclining among the hay, absently carving a piece of wood in his hand.

“Angelo sent home another cinnamon roll for you,” Molly informed him.

“Molly! I didn’t hear you come in,” Greg greeted, coming out of his daydream. He stretched and ran a hand through his silvering hair, causing the hay underneath him to shift. “How was the village this morning?”

“Fine,” Molly replied. “Michael Stamford lent me a new book.”

“That was kind of him. What’s this one about?” Greg asked.

“Poisonous plants and other toxins.” She smiled brightly as she hugged the book to her chest.

“Sounds right up your alley,” he chuckled. “And what else happened?”

“Nothing,” she said dismissively, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

Greg sat up and raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Just another run in with James Moriarty. That’s all,” Molly admitted, caving under the scrutiny of her brother’s gaze.

“Do I need to go down there and defend your honor?” Greg smiled.

“No, he didn’t do anything. He just…You know how he is,” Molly sighed, leaning against the stable wall.

“Indeed I do,” Greg laughed humorlessly, reclining back against the hay. “The man is persistent I will give him that. Just stay firm in your stance with him, Mols. I’m sure he’ll take the hint eventually.”

“Or you’ll make him take the hint?” Molly teased.

Greg shrugged. “I’m your big brother. That’s my job, isn’t it?”

Molly smiled and came to sit beside him. “What are you making?” she asked.

“Nothing special.” Greg itched the back of his neck. “Thought I would carve out another knight or two before the fair tomorrow.”

Molly picked up his work and examined it. “It’s perfect.”

Greg shrugged, dismissing her praise modestly.

Molly continued anyway, “And such a valiant steed he’s riding! Do I spy a certain resemblance to our dear Toby?”

The chestnut gelding poked his nose out of his stall at the sound of his name, ears perked curiously forward in hopes of a treat.

The siblings laughed at the horse’s impeccable timing.

“Only the best for a noble knight,” Greg replied, standing up with a groan as he unfolded his stiff legs, retrieving a sugar cube from his pocket.

Molly watched her brother for a moment before asking. “Are you going to be alright on your own tomorrow?”

“Hm? Oh yeah. Don’t you worry about me,” Greg replied, rubbing Toby’s long nose. “This old boy will keep me company, won’t you Toby?”

Toby sniffed at Greg’s vest pocket in search for more sugar cubes.

Molly smiled, but still wasn’t convinced.

“I’ll be fine, Molly. Really,” he assured her. “You’ve got enough on your plate here. The fair is only the next town over. I’ll be back in three days tops. Besides, you and I both know I’m going to have to learn to manage without you eventually.”

Molly rolled her eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll be marrying anytime soon, Greg. Or ever…”

“Who said anything about you getting married?” Greg teased. “I meant when you grow up and become a world renowned doctor.”

Molly laughed wistfully. After a moment she asked, “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”

His smiled but his eyes turned solemn as he thought, hooking his thumbs in his belt as he leaned against the wall of Toby’s stall. “Now who would want an old widower like me?”

“You’re not that old,” Molly pointed out.

“My hair begs to differ, dear sister,” he replied self-deprecatingly.

“Catherine would have wanted you to be happy,” Molly reminded him.

Greg scratched at the stubble along his jaw. “Yeah I know…”

Molly drew her knees close to her chest. “I know you’re not ready yet, and that’s okay. I just want to make sure that you remember that someday, maybe, you could be. I don’t want you to give up on finding your own happiness again.”

Greg looked at her admiringly. “You know, you’re pretty smart for a little sister.”

Molly stuck her tongue out at him childishly before falling into a fit of giggles. Her laughter soon proved contagious as Greg began to laugh along with her.


	2. Into the woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg finds something mysterious on the way to the fair. Molly has an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. Will fix any typo-s I find at a later date.

 

Hints of gold had just begun to seep across the horizon as Greg and Molly loaded the last of his carvings onto the cart.

“Now what can I bring back from the fair for my favorite sister?” Greg asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

“Greg, you know you don’t need to get me anything,” Molly protested.

“Yes, and you know that I want to get you something, Molly,” Greg argued jovially. “So what will it be?”

Molly thought a moment as she brushed Toby’s mane.

“A rose?” she suggested.

“You ask for one of those every year,” Greg laughed.

“And yet you always bring it,” Molly pointed out.

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. One Baskerville rose for the best gal in Bakersville.”

“Thank you,” Molly replied with exaggerated sweetness. “Promise you won’t be gone long?”

“I promise,” he chuckled, ruffling her hair.

She stepped back as he flicked the reins, prompting Toby forward down the lane.

He turned and waved as the cart crested the hill and dipped out of sight.

Molly sighed as she watched him go.

“Be safe, Greg.”

*****

The rain began to pour as Greg and Toby made their way down the wooded path, quickly soaking through Greg’s coat and causing the brim of his hat to sag.

“We shouldn’t be too much longer now, Toby,” he reassured his equine companion. “Just around this bend and it’s a straight shot to Baskerville…”

His words trailed off as they rounded the bend to find a fallen tree laying across the path. Greg swore under his breath as he dismounted, sloshing mud onto his trousers and into his boots.

“Come on, old boy. You can do it,” he coaxed as he attempted to lead Toby by the reins overtop of the trunk. Despite their best efforts, the mud was too deep for the cart, the wheels only spinning themselves into deeper trenches as they pressed forward.

Greg backed Toby up and ran a hand over his face. As he looked around, he noticed a gap in the trees to their right. Sure enough, beyond the brush was a winding old footpath heading into the forest.

“Think we can fit through there?” Greg asked Toby.

Toby snorted and shook his head.

“Oh sure we can,” Greg laughed. “Come on. This old path is bound to lead somewhere dry. Or would you rather stay out here in the rain all night?”

Toby stood still as if he were contemplating his options.

Greg rolled his eyes and flicked the reins with a chuckle. “Don’t be such a scaredy-cat, Toby. It looks fine.”

Reluctantly Toby walked on, stepping lightly over the brush and onto the path.

As they trudged on through the muck and over twisted roots, the rain turned to sleet and then to snow.

“Must be closer to the mountains than I thought,” Greg reasoned through chattering teeth.

The winds began to howl through the trees, sending a shiver down his spine. Then he heard the brush rustle and the sound of a low growl.

Greg swallowed. “Please tell me that was your stomach, Toby.” 

Hesitantly he glanced over towards the sound, and was met by several sets of ravenous eyes reflecting in the lantern light.

“Toby,” Greg whispered, his voice shaking. “Run!”

Toby took off as fast as his legs could carry him, the cart bouncing along as Greg did his best to hang on.

The wolves took chase as Greg and Toby careened down the path. They made a sharp turn, sending the cart up on two wheels, scattering Greg’s carvings in their wake. As the wolves began to gain on them, Greg jumped to Toby’s back and slashed the harness, abandoning his wares in favor of a speedy escape. They rode blindly through the woods, as the wind and snow whipped their eyes.

Suddenly Toby halted, his hooves skidding to a stop in the snow. Greg blinked the icicles from his lashes as he looked up to see a grand wrought iron gate standing in front of them.

Greg dismounted in awe as he peered through the gate at the towering castle beyond the snowy courtyard. As he leaned a hand against the gate, it creaked open.

He looked back at Toby triumphantly. “Told you we’d find somewhere dry for the night.”

Toby followed hesitantly as Greg led him by the reins through the courtyard.

“Where are we?” he wondered.

His eyes fell on the entrance of the castle’s stable. “Ah! Well now we know where you’ll be taking your greatly deserved rest.”

He opened the stable door and looked around. There was a lantern lit and the stalls were warm and cozy, filled with fresh, dusty scented hay.

“Hello?” Greg called, leaving Toby to drink from the trough as he poked around. “Is anyone here?”

The barn was empty. Not even a horse to greet them.

“Hm. Well I suppose I’ll have to announce us to the household myself,” Greg said, patting Toby’s neck. “You'll be alright here by yourself, won’t you?”

Toby helped himself to a feedbag of oats hanging on the doorpost of an open stall, giving Greg all the answer he needed.

Tentatively, he climbed the carved marble stairs to the front door. Shaking the snow and ice from his coat, he lifted the knocker and rapped twice. The door swung open much to his relief and he stepped inside.

“I’m sorry to bother you so late. I was caught in the storm and then my horse and I were chased by—“ His words died away on his lips as he found no one was standing there with him.

He brushed a hand over his hair to loosen the snow as he hung up his hat on the coat rack.

“I don’t mean to intrude. I only hoped that you would allow me to wait out the storm…Is anyone here?”

His voice echoed off the high ceilings and winding staircase. In the silence he noticed the sound of a crackling fire.

“Well if you are here, I’ll um, warm myself by the fire if you don’t mind,” Greg announced to the empty foyer.

He strode towards the fireplace but stopped short as he noticed a table that held an intricately carved mantle clock and a candelabra, its metal base delicately worked to resemble a soldier standing at attention.

“Remarkable,” he breathed, admiring the craftsmanship.

He closed the distance to the fireplace, rubbing his hands and holding them out in front of himself. He turned around to warm the rest of him, cupping his hands and using his breath to thaw his frozen digits the rest of the way.

The sound of clattering dishes reached his ears from the next room over. Curiosity got the better of him and he went to investigate. In the dining room he found a plate of food and a piping cup of tea set out, yet once again no one but himself was present.

“That’s very kind of you, but please don’t feel you need to fuss. I’d be more than happy to eat in the kitchen with the staff…” he stated, not bothering to sit down but elected to look around for his host. Yet he still found every room to be empty.

“Alright, this isn’t funny anymore,” he called to the empty rooms as he retraced his steps back out to where he’d come in. “I’d like to speak to the head of the household…Or anyone for that matter…Will someone just please talk to me?!”

“Well if you insist, mate,” a quiet voice replied.

“Finally!” Greg sighed, spinning around to face them. But where the sound of the voice had come stood only the coatrack. It appeared to be standing shyly, arms shrugged upwards as it sheepishly held his hat in its…hands?

Greg blinked as he swore he saw what could only be described as a wooden face smile apologetically.

“’ello,” the coatrack greeted shyly.

Greg’s eyes went wide as the coatrack offered him his hat. He mustered a polite nod as he stumbled out the door.

“That’s it, Toby. We’re warm enough. I think it is best we head home now,” Greg declared quickly to his steed.

Toby whinnied in complaint, but followed dutifully as he was led by the reins back through the courtyard.

“Strange place,” Greg muttered under his breath.

Just then the sight of a snow covered rose garden caught his eye.

“Rose!” He smacked his forehead lightly. “I almost forgot. It’s not a Baskerville but Molly won’t mind, right?”

He extracted a knife from his pocket and selected a bloom that seemed especially plucky, despite the snow and frost. As his knife cut through the stem, a shadow eclipsed the moonlight that had lit his view. He turned slowly to face the towering figure. A scream caught in his throat as he heard Toby whinny and gallop away, the figure in front of him seizing him by the coat.

*****

Molly hung her laundry on the line as she read, enraptured by an excerpt on how to best identify the symptoms of hemlock poisoning when she heard someone clear their throat at the gate.

“I’m afraid Greg left for the fair yesterday, Philip,” she informed her visitor, clipping the last of her linens to the line. “Though he did ask me to bid you a fond hello. I’m sure he would greatly enjoy your company should you call again next week.”

“Oh…very good then.” Philip nodded awkwardly, hands resting uneasily at the gate. “Well, since I am here…perhaps _you_ would care to accompany me for a walk this afternoon, Miss Hooper?”

“Since when have we gone on afternoon strolls together, Philip?” Molly laughed, setting her basket on the porch.

“Since…well, never I suppose…but there’s no reason why we cannot do so now,” Philip argued, walking the length of the fence with her.

“Why the sudden interest in my company?” she asked, returning her reading material to her bag.

“I’ve always had a fond respect for you, Miss Hooper. As I recall, you held top marks all throughout our years of schooling together. And you are the sister of one of my oldest and dearest friends,” Philip argued unconvincingly.

“And yet in all our years of acquaintance, you and I have not once conversed for more than five minutes,” Molly pointed out amicably as she joined him at the fence.

Philip sighed, and looked down at his shoes, clearly embarrassed. “I was hoping that I might have your advice on a personal matter.”

Molly smiled. “Beatrice angry with you again, is she?” Philip nodded sheepishly, eliciting an amused laugh from her lips. “What egregious sin have you committed of late?”

“I don’t know!” Philip groaned, throwing his hands up in defeat. “But I thought perhaps you might be able to help me...being a woman and all. I do hold you in high respect, Molly. And not just because you’re Greg’s sister. You’ve always been a person of reason.”

“Very well,” Molly acquiesced, unlocking the gate and stepping out to join him. “Lead the way.”

They strolled down the lane along the outskirts of the village as Philip relayed his wife’s grievances to her listening ear.

“It sounds to me that your issues do not stem necessarily from any one act or another, but from a lack of communication with your wife, Philip,” Molly advised gently.

“So…I just need to…talk to her more?” Philip contemplated, befuddled.

“Not exactly. It’s more nuanced than that,” she replied, watching the sunlight sparkle on the river. “If you will pardon my frankness, from what you’ve told me, Beatrice does not feel she has a voice in your marriage. I can only imagine the wonders it would do for your relationship if you took the time to consult with her. Listen to her. She is your helpmate, your partner in life and deserves to be treated as such. Try taking an interest in her past times. Things that she finds exciting.”

“Like needlepoint?” Philip suggested. Molly shook her head, holding back a laugh. “Okay not needlepoint per-say…”

“Your wife is more than just your housekeeper,” Molly reminded him. “Believe it or not, Philip, women are capable of being a great many things. You may find Beatrice to be much more than you’ve imagined her to be, if you would only take enough of an interest for her to show you.”

Philip pondered her words as they crossed the bridge into the village square. “Thank you, Molly. Your insight has been rather informative. Now if you would excuse me, I um, I believe I have some things to attend to. Thank you for accompanying me today.”

“Of course. I must admit, I rather enjoyed speaking with you for such an extended time. Perhaps we can endeavor to break our record in the future,” Molly replied.

“Yes,” Philip laughed. “I can regale you with tales of how improved I am as a husband since our last outing.”

“An admirable goal,” Molly agreed. “Good day to you, Philip.”

“Miss Hooper.” Philip tipped his cap to her as he departed.

 

Molly returned home refreshed from her walk, pleasantly surprised by the delight that her brother’s friend had brought to her day. Philip was a simple man, but not as dim as he once had seemed. She smiled to herself as she retrieved her laundry basket, hopeful at the prospect of having more leisurely afternoon discussions of her own with the kindhearted man who’d been such a dear friend to her brother all these years.

As she removed her linens from the line, she was shocked by the sight of James standing suddenly at the gate in his Sunday best, a confident smile across his face.

“James,” she greeted, trying to calm herself after nearly jumping out of her shoes. “What brings you by this afternoon?”

“Why, you of course,” he replied charmingly as he strode through the gate, letting himself in.

“Really?” she wondered, returning back to her linens. “I don’t believe I was expecting you.”

“Oh I thought a surprise would be more exciting,” he crooned, presenting her with a large bouquet of flowers. “Surprise!”

Molly plastered on a polite smile as she lifted her basket, placing it between herself and him. “Is there something I can help you with?”

“As a matter of fact there is,” James replied, following in stride with her as she made her way to the porch.

Molly turned to him as he followed her up the steps.

“Molly,” he began, setting the bouquet gently on her basket seeing that she was not going to take it from him. “I’ve come to declare what I have known since the day I first met you when we were but school children. Do you remember the day?”

“Vaguely. Artie Doyle’s cat had gotten stuck in a tree. I slipped trying to get it down and you caught me.”

“Like an angel from heaven,” James reminisced.

“That was a long time ago,” Molly reminded him.

James nodded. “That it was, yet I have not forgotten the feeling. I made myself a promise that day, Molly.”

“What was that?” she asked as she edged towards the door, not particularly wanting to know the answer.

“That I would make you my wife,” he replied, his dark eyes locking with hers.

“What?” Molly laughed nervously.

“Picture it, Molly. The life we could build together. A grand hunting lodge, my latest kill roasting on the fire, while the little ones play with the dogs. We’ll have at least half a dozen of course.” He smiled flirtatiously at her as he stepped closer.

“I’ve always been more of a cat person. I wouldn’t want that many dogs,” Molly replied, stepping back.

“Don’t be so coy, Molly. We’ll have a gaggle of handsome lads. Your warm brown eyes. My…everything else.”

Molly felt the door come flush with her back. Steeling herself, she met his eyes.

“No,” she replied calmly.

“Well I suppose if you really wanted a girl we could try for a few as well,” James considered.

Molly shook her head. “I mean no to all of it. I can’t marry you, James. I’m sorry if I have mislead you in any way. Believe me it was never my intention.”

His smile faltered as her reply registered, but he kept his composure.

“Molly,” he replied gently, his voice like velvet. “You won’t get a better offer than what I can give to you. I’d be good to you. Provide you with a home, servants at your beck and call. I’d allow you to continue your reading and your little midwifery hobby, as long as it doesn’t interfere with your role as a mother later on. Most men wouldn’t tolerate a woman with such an interest. Medicine is just so… It isn’t exactly proper for a lady to practice, but for you, I’d be willing to let it slide.”

“That may be true,” Molly conceded. “But I do not want a husband who will simply tolerate my interests; who will simply tolerate me. I deserve someone who will accepts me and loves me for all that I am. You deserve that too…But I’m not her.”

His smile slipped further from his eyes, until his expression was like that of someone explaining something to a dim child.

“Molly, you’re a smart young woman. Your father has passed on, God rest his soul, and your brother…Gregory is a kind fellow to be sure, and likely to remarry someday when his heart has mended. Though he would never be so callous as to cast you out…You would not want to be a burden to him and his future bride, would you?”

Molly pressed her lips together, as she reached behind her, fumbling for the doorknob. “I’m sure I will find a way to manage on my own somewhere.”

“Like you did during your time in London?” he asked as he leaned in with a wolfish grin. “Rumor has it you spent the better part of a year there before your sister-in-law’s untimely passing. Very hush hush about how exactly you spent your time there. What delectable little secret might you be keeping, I wonder?”

“That’s my business,” she informed him flatly.

He leaned in further still, hovering over her as much as his stature would allow. “But don’t you see, Molly? I’d like to make it my business as well. Face the facts, my dear, you and I aren’t getting any younger. Take some time and consider my offer.”

Molly felt a wave of relief wash over her as her hand finally found purchase on the cool metal of the doorknob. “I’m sorry, James. I can’t marry you. We just want different things out of life.”

“Wants can change with time,” he protested.

“Not that much,” Molly replied, thrusting the bouquet back in his hands. “Good day.”

With that she stepped inside and shut the door in his face. She let out a deep breath and listened as his footfalls descended the steps of the porch, only moving after the telltale sound of the squeaking gate reached her ears.

“Is he gone?” she asked the chickens pecking the lawn as she leaned out the door when she was certain the coast was clear. “Can you imagine? Me! Married to that arrogant, conceited, bullying… ugh!” She sat down on the steps in a huff as the hens continued to feed, completely uninterested.

She lifted her head as the sound of rapid hoof-falls reached her ears. She was soon on her feet as Toby came up the lane, drenched in sweat.

“Toby!?” she exclaimed, quickly opening the gate to let the exhausted equine in. He made his way to the barn and drank deeply from the trough.

“What happened to you? Where’s Greg?” Molly demanded.

Toby lifted his head to look back towards the woods then back to her, his soft eyes wild.

“Rest while I pack. You’re taking me to him,” Molly asserted.

Toby gave a snort of agreement, taking another drink.

*****  
  
Molly and Toby rode through the woods, down the narrow winding path passed the fallen tree. They soon reached the scattered trail of carved wooden figures that had bounced free of the cart.

Molly dismounted, clutching her cloak to herself as she knelt in the snow to pick up the snow covered wooden knight. “Greg…”

Toby nudged her shoulder, prompting her forward. Pulling herself together she remounted and let Toby lead the rest of the way, until they reached the wrought iron gate in front of the sprawling castle.

“Where are we, Toby?” she whispered as she walked through the snow covered courtyard.

Toby nudged her encouragingly as they reached the winding stairs. With a steadying breath, Molly climbed the steps to the castle.

“Hello?” she called as she pushed the door open further.

 The door had been left ajar, letting little drifts of snow in to collect on the marble floor. She’d have thought the place abandoned were it not for the lit candelabra on the table.

“Is anyone here?” she called out, her voice sounding small as it bounced off the vaulted ceiling. A man’s cough echoed from some darkened corridor. “Greg!”

Without hesitation, Molly grabbed the candelabra from the table and followed the sound through the castle, climbing the spiraling staircase as fast as her feet would carry her. She soon reached the top and found her brother curled against the wall of a cell, his face pale beneath his sun-bronzed complexion, his eyes glassy.

“Molly?” he replied weakly as she came into view.

“Greg!” She rushed to his side, reaching for him through the bars. “Your hands are like ice. Who’s done this to you?”

“Molly, listen to me. You must get out of here. It isn’t safe,” Greg pleaded.

“What are you talking about? I’m getting you out of here. There’s got to be something I can pry the lock with somewhere…”

“No, forget about me. Just go! Before he finds you,” he insisted.

“Who?” Molly asked.

She felt she would soon find her answer as she heard the sound of movement among the shadows.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice quavering.

“The master of this castle,” replied a rumbling voice from the dark. “Who are you, trespasser?”

“Molly. Molly Hooper,” she replied, a bit more bravely as she felt anger rise within her chest. “I’ve come for my brother. I demand that you release him into my care immediately.”

A humorless laugh echoed from the shadowy corner. “You are in no position to make demands of me. Your brother is a thief. As punishment, he is now my prisoner.”

Molly stood, staring defiantly into the darkness. “My brother has never stolen a thing in his life!”

“I caught him in the act,” retorted the voice, the towering figure it belonged to moving among the shadows.

“Liar!” Molly shot back.

“Actually, Molly,” Greg chimed in, holding back a cough. “I never made it to Baskerville. I didn’t want to disappoint you…”

Molly turned back to the shadow in disbelief. “A rose? You would imprison this man for a rose?”

“He freely admits that he stole from me,” the shadow reasoned.

“To fulfil a promise to _me_ ,” Molly argued. “…Take me instead.”

“What?” echoed the shadow and Greg in disbelief.

“He’s sick. He’ll die if he stays here. Take me in his place,” Molly replied.

“No…he means forever,” Greg informed her quietly. “It would seem they take their gardens very seriously here.”

“A life sentence for a rose? Are you insane?!” Molly demanded.

“I have received the eternal damnation for one,” the shadow brooded. “Do you still wish to take his place?”

Molly peered into the darkness. “Come into the light.”

The figure among the shadows stepped forward slowly, standing up stiffly to his full height. Molly’s eyes went wide as the towering figure before her came into view. He was covered in dark fur, almost appearing catlike were it not for his massive horns. But what struck her most was the pair of blue-green eyes that glared down at her expectantly.

“Well?” he asked, sweeping a massive paw dramatically.

“You have my word,” Molly replied, her chin held high, determined to meet his eyes.

Greg groaned as he pulled himself up to stand. “Molly, no. I can accept his ridiculous punishment for my actions. I’ve lived my life. Your life is still ahead of you.”

“And so is yours,” Molly reminded him, cupping his cheek. She turned to the beast in front of her. “Will you at least let me say goodbye?”

The beast scoffed dismissively but glanced back at her face. “Fine…”

With a sweep of his cloak he unlocked the door, letting Molly into the cell.

She threw her arms around Greg as he hugged her tightly.

“You don’t have to do this,” he told her quietly. “You don’t have to waste your life for me.”

She smiled halfheartedly. “Don’t worry about me. I’ll figure something out. We’ll see each other again, I promise.”

They pulled back and Greg ruffled her hair, tears in his eyes. But before he could hug her again, the beast grabbed him by the coat and swung him over his shoulder, closing the door to the cell.

“Put me down!” Greg protested.

“Last chance,” the beast informed her. “Still think he’s worth all of this?”

“Of course he is,” Molly replied. “He’s my brother.”

“He’s a fool,” the beast sneered. “And so are you.”

Tears stung her eyes as he carried Greg away, the sound of her brothers pleading echoing off the stone walls, slowly fading away.

She watched helplessly as she saw the beast toss Greg into a horseless carriage which soon began to roll away from the castle into the woods, and out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Here's where she meets Prince Charming! But she won't discover that it's him 'til chapter three..."  
> Sorry to leave it on such an angsty, dramatic note! We'll get into some happier, romantic story next chapter. Stay tuned! And don't forget to tell me what you think in the comments ;)


	3. Who said anything about the castle being enchanted?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly meets the staff of the castle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. Parts were written while I had a cold. Hopefully it all came together alright...

Molly sniffed as she hugged her knees to her chest, her breath ragged from tears and cold air as it caught in her throat while she attempted to compose herself.

  _At least Greg is safe_ , she thought.

“Pardon me, miss,” a man greeted gently from somewhere on the stairway, the light from his candle coming into view. “The master has asked that I escort you to your room.”

“My room?” Molly asked, relieved, making her way to the cell door. “I-I thought that I—“

“Yes, I know. He can be such a drama queen,” the man laughed as he climbed the stairs. “Honestly, I’ve seen children throw smaller temper tantrums than him.”

Molly squeaked in shock and edged away from the door as not a man, but the candelabra from the foyer climbed the stairs to meet her.

“Wh-what are you?” she breathed, slowly moving closer to see him as he climbed up the bars of her cell to the lock.

The figure of the metal soldier that made up the candelabra base shrugged with a laugh.

“Call me John,” he insisted congenially. “The key is strapped to my back. Would you mind?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.” Molly untied the ribbon around his torso and placed the key in the lock and gave it a turn. The door unlocked with a heavy metallic thud.

“Very good!” John praised from his perch on the metal bar. He extended an arm to suggest she pick him up, carefully angling the candle attached at the end away from her. “Shall we?”

“So…you can talk,” Molly began as they descended the staircase.

“That I can,” John confirmed.

“Impressive,” Molly replied, unsure of what else to say.

“Hardly,” a voice by her feet wheezed. She looked down to see a somehow very out of breath mantel clock on the step below her.

“Mycroft! How good of you to join us,” John teased. “I must say, it is about time.”

“Do save me your quips, Watson. I am, as ever, not in the mood,” Mycroft groaned. “My lady, would you be so kind as to help me up?”

“Certainly,” Molly replied, setting John down and gently placing Mycroft on his feet. “I’d be happy to carry you the rest of the way if you’d like.”

“No, no, miss,” Mycroft declined. “I may not be what I once was, but I still have my dignity. Unlike some…”

John shot Molly an exasperated look as Mycroft tottled on proudly, calling over his shoulder, “Now, let us continue to your room.”

Molly smiled and offered John her hand to lift him up once more. “It really is so much nicer to speak with you on eye level.”

“Not to mention faster,” John grumbled in agreement.

“Is everything here alive?” Molly asked in wonderment as she admired a bird flying within the threads of the tapestry on the wall.

“Of course not. Don’t be absurd,” Mycroft replied.

“I thought it a reasonable question.” Molly shrugged, unperturbed. “It _is_ my first time in an enchanted castle, after all.”

Mycroft turned back to look at her. “Who said anything about the castle being enchanted?” He then shot John an accusatory look.

John covered his mouth with his candle holder, doing his best to contain a laugh as Molly looked from him to Mycroft. “I figured it out on my own,” she informed him conspiratorially.

Mycroft peered at them suspiciously before deciding to believe her. “Well…Good for you.”

“Many things move about here but few are actually sentient,” John explained. “There were hardly any people left here when—“

Mycroft turned around to glare at him.

“When what?” Molly asked.

“Long story,” John replied. “The short version for now is if we talk, we were once like you. Everything else is just a side effect of the enchantment. So don’t feel you need to apologize to every chair and stepstool you use.”

Molly nodded. “Good to know,” she murmured more to herself than to her escorts. “I would feel rather silly asking the curtains for directions.”

Mycroft hummed in what sounded like a stifled laugh. “You’ll learn the castle’s ins and outs in due time, I am sure. Given that it seems you will be with us for some time, we hope you will be comfortable here. You may go anywhere within the castle grounds you like, except the west wing.”

“What’s in the west wing?” she asked.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” Mycroft assured her.

“Storage space,” John added.

Mycroft nodded in agreement. “Very dull. Nothing but shelves of dusty armor polish and old expense reports. Oh, would you look at that! We’re here.”

“Allow me,” John insisted, jumping from her hand to turn the knob and open the door into what appeared to be a hall in the main part of the castle. From there he crossed the hall to push open the door to the room in front of them, gesturing for her to enter. “Your room, mademoiselle.”

Molly stepped in to see a light, spacious room, beautifully decorated with intricate filigree adorning the walls and ornately carved furnishings.

“A modest room, perhaps, but comfortable,” Mycroft assessed.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed admiringly.

“John? Are you down there?” a voice asked from the vanity.

“Yes, Mary, my love,” he called up.

Out from the music box on the vanity stepped a metal ballerina, her skirts crafted from delicate petal like blades about her middle.

“John.” She smiled warmly at him before sliding gracefully down the cord of the nearby curtain to meet him.

He held out his arms to embrace her as she leaped towards him.

“Careful, my darling,” she warned as his arms encircled her. “You’ll cut your wax on my skirt.”

“Damn my wax,” he murmured, drawing her closer to him still, pressing his forehead to hers.

Mycroft coughed as a reminder to the metal lovers that they were not alone.

“Right,” John replied, smoothing his coat front. “Mademoiselle, may I introduce to you, the incomparable Mary Morstan.”

“Pleasure to meet you, miss,” Mary replied, extending a tiny hand to Molly.

“Molly, please,” Molly insisted, gently taking her tiny hand between her finger and thumb.

“Mary will attend to you during your stay, as will Lady Anthea,” Mycroft explained, gesturing to the wardrobe beside him. “Anthea, would you select something suitable for Miss Hooper to wear to dinner this evening?”

“I’m sure I’ve got something in these drawers that will suit her. My, you are a tiny thing! Could you spin around for me?” she requested.

Molly obliged, turning slowly as Anthea drew out a measuring tape, taking stock of her limbs. “That’s very kind of you, but my own clothes should be fine for now. I’m afraid I’m not very hungry.”

“The master has requested you join him for dinner,” Mycroft insisted.

“I’m afraid I have no interest in dining with him this evening,” Molly replied politely. “Please do express my appreciation for the new room to him. It is much warmer than the cell I anticipated spending the rest of my days in.”

“I must insist you reconsider,” Mycroft prompted.

“Well, if it means that much to him, he may make his way up here, apologize for his rude behavior, and ask me himself,” Molly insisted, sitting down on the bed. “Until then I must decline.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to reprimand her.

“Mycroft,” John hissed, shaking his head. “The lady lost her freedom and her family today. Let her have this. If Sherlock wants her company, he’s going to have to earn it.”

Mary nodded in agreement.

Mycroft sighed. “Fine. But you’re going to be the one to explain that to him.”

“What? Afraid to face him alone?” John mocked with a laugh.

Mycroft scoffed. “Hardly.”

“Then lead the way, my lord.” John held a candle out toward the door.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, lifting his face a little higher as he marched out the door, John following behind him. The metal soldier turned and shot the ladies a wink before closing the door behind them.

“So,” Mary asked, climbing the bedpost to sit on the pillow next to Molly. “Know any good jokes?”

 

*****

Sherlock paced in front of the fire, his tail twitching agitatedly. He turned as John and Mycroft entered the dining room.

“Well?” he demanded.

“She’s getting settled in the east wing,” Mycroft informed him.

Sherlock nodded. “Tell her to hurry up. I’m starving,” he grumbled.

“About that…”Mycroft looked hesitantly toward John.

Sherlock scoffed and sat down. “Don’t tell me she’s up there attempting to fix her hair. Honestly, Mycroft I don’t know what you hope to achieve in my dining with the girl.”

“Actually, mate, she’s not coming,” John answered.

“What?!” Sherlock roared.

“Says she wants you to apologize and ask her yourself.” John shrugged before making his way onto the table.

“Apologize?! What for? I didn’t ask her to sacrifice herself. She took her brother’s place willingly,” Sherlock retorted.

“No, but your behavior was still rather atrocious towards the young lady,” Mycroft reminded him. “It wouldn’t hurt to treat her with a little more civility.”

“She started it,” Sherlock grumbled.

“You did lock her brother in a tower to rot,” John pointed out.

“The man was a thief. There are places where the punishment is a severed limb for such a crime. I felt I was being rather generous,” Sherlock replied defensively.

John squared his shoulders and marched across the table until he stood directly on Sherlock’s plate.

“Now you listen here. Do you want to be stuck like this for the rest of your life?” John demanded.

“N-no,” Sherlock replied, startled by his valet sudden hostility.

“Do you think I want to be stuck like this?!” John continued, gesturing to his diminished metal form.

“No…” Sherlock looked down guiltily.

“Then go up there and apologize to that nice young woman. Now!” John pointed a candle towards the door.

“Why should I?” Sherlock shot back.

John let out a humorless laugh. “You really have given up, haven’t you?” he muttered.

“John, you don’t honestly think that she’s the one, do you?” Sherlock laughed derisively.

“But what if she is, Sherlock?” John demanded.

“John,” Mycroft warned.

“No! I’m tired of this defeatist attitude. It has been years since that blasted night. Years! And now that someone has finally come along, you’re going to treat her like garbage?”

Sherlock stood from the table and returned to the fireplace. “What’s the point? She’ll never see anything in a creature like me.”

“Not with that attitude, she won’t,” Mycroft agreed from his perch on the drink cart, inspecting a decanter.

“Sherlock,” John sighed, softening his tone. “I don’t know if she’s the one. I hope that she is. But even if she isn’t, she’s still a nice girl who has had an awful day, no thanks to you I might add, and she deserves to be treated with a little more kindness and respect.”

Sherlock glared down at John, but knew that he was right. He sighed in resignation and turned to Mycroft.  “You really think there’s a chance with this girl?”

Mycroft smiled ruefully. “I used to tell you caring was not an advantage. Look where it got us…You can’t blame me for wanting you to try.”

John gave him a shrug.

“Fine,” Sherlock acquiesced, trudging out of the room, grumbling to himself. “Apologizing to the prisoner. What will they think of next?”

 

****

Molly clutched her sides, breathless from laughter as Mary kicked her tiny legs against the pillow giddily, the floor gently trembling as Anthea tried to pull herself together.

“No, no, wait! I have another one,” Mary gasped, attempting to steady herself against the soft surface beneath her. “What do you call a woman that Henry the eighth showed no interest in?”

“What?” Molly asked, tears in her eyes.

“Lucky!” Mary squealed, another peal of laughter bubbling from her as she fell back against the pillow.

They all went silent as they heard a knock on the door.

“Miss Hooper?” a gruff voice asked hesitantly.

Molly looked to Mary who motioned for her to go to him.

“Yes?” Molly asked, moving toward the door tentatively.

“Would you…care to join me for dinner?” Sherlock asked from the other side, Mycroft nodding encouragingly.

Molly stopped, surprised by the cordial invitation.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say to me first?” she asked calmly.

Sherlock paused a moment, staring intently at the door.

“No. That was it,” he responded.

John shook his head, resting it against his holders.

“I’m sorry?” Molly replied, flabbergasted.

“Wonderful. I accept your apology, miss.” Sherlock smiled smugly. “So… Dinner?”

“No!” Molly shot back, walking away from the door in disgust.

Sherlock stared aghast at the door. “Do you plan to just stay in your room forever? Is that it?!”

“Maybe I will!” Molly sat back on the bed determinedly.

“Well…if you don’t eat with me, then you don’t eat at all!” Sherlock declared.

“Fine!” Molly challenged.

Sherlock balled his paw into a fist against the doorframe.

“Calm, Sherlock. Attempt to be a gentleman,” Mycroft reminded him.

“But she’s being so difficult!” Sherlock complained.

“No more difficult than you,” John reminded him. “You can do this.”

Mycroft folded his arms expectantly.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said evenly. “Sorry you’re so determined to starve!”

“Better than spending another minute with you!” Molly shouted, hurling a pillow at the door.

“I give up!” Sherlock declared, backing away from the door. “Don’t know why I bothered listening to you.”

With that he stormed off, knocking over furniture in his wake.

“I honestly don’t know what else we were expecting to happen,” John admitted.

 

Sherlock stormed into the west wing in a huff, kicking over anything in his path. The moonlight reflecting off the surface of the enchanted mirror on the table caught his eye and he picked it up.

“Show me Miss Hooper,” he demanded.

His reflection rippled and changed until he saw Molly wiping her eyes as Anthea offered her a handkerchief.

“He’s really not so bad once you get to know him,” Mary told her gently.

“I don’t want to get to know him!” Molly cried. “I don’t want anything to do with him.”

“That’s enough,” he muttered, setting the mirror down. “I’m such a fool. She’ll never see me as anything but a monster.” He watched as another petal slipped from the rose in front of him. “It’s hopeless…”

 

*****  
  
Molly wiped her eyes as she stared out the window at the snowy courtyard below, contemplating just how far of a drop it was when she heard a gentle knock on the door.

“Go away,” she croaked.

“It’s just Mrs. Hudson, dear,” a maternal voice replied. “Mind if I come in?”

Molly looked down at the drop below, considering her options and nodded. Mary made her way across the furniture and leaped for the handle with ease, opening the door.

A cart rolled in carrying a teapot with a woman’s face painted on its side.

“Thought you might like a cup of tea. I hear you’ve had quite a day,” Mrs. Hudson said soothingly.

Molly took a cup and saucer gratefully as she sat on the bed. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”

“Oh, it was no trouble. I brought up some biscuits as well if you like,” Mrs. Hudson offered, turning to find where she had placed them.

Molly began to lift the cup to her lips but Mary stopped her. “Just let me check that it isn’t one of her special soothers,” she whispered. “You’ve already got talking knickknacks to deal with as it is.”

She placed her tiny hands on the rim of the cup and peered over the edge, examining the color and particles collected at the bottom.

She gave Molly a nod when it passed inspection and allowed Molly to drink. Chamomile. Perfectly prepared. It was a welcome respite.

“John tells me you were witness to more than one of the young master’s fits today,” Mrs. Hudson said apologetically. “You’d think that he was raised in a barn.”

“I’ve known plenty a farm hand with better manners. And farm stock, for that matter,” Molly huffed.

Mrs. Hudson laughed. “I like your spirit, Miss Hooper. Go on now, don’t forget your biscuits.”

Molly took a bite of the confection in front of her, melting at the sensation of it on her tongue. “This is delicious. Thank you,” she replied. Her stomach rumbled on cue.

“Just as I suspected.” Mrs. Hudson nodded knowingly. “Come along, dear. I’ve made you a plate in the kitchen.”

Mary hopped aboard Mrs. Hudson’s cart as it began to roll towards the door.

“What about Anthea?” Molly asked, not wanting to leave the lovely wardrobe by her lonesome.  As if to answer her question, a gentle snore began to reverberate from the wardrobe.

“She’ll be fine, Molly,” Mary assured her. Molly nodded and followed the cart hesitantly into the hallway.

“She needs her rest,” Mary explained as they rolled along through the servant’s hall to the kitchen. “Being as large as she is now, it is harder for her to move about. I think being stretched so by the enchantment drains her. She was once one of the liveliest ladies in the royal court. Fabulous dresser too.”

“I can believe it,” Molly replied, remembering the rows upon rows of gowns Anthea had insisted on having her look through.

“I was surprised that the spell didn’t turn her into a diary for all the knowledge she is privy to. But she was known for her dresses, so it makes a certain sense I suppose,” Mary mused.

“What about you?” Molly asked, pushing open the kitchen door.

“Me?” Mary laughed. “I was a great many things before the curse descended upon us. Handmaiden to important dignitaries, a dancer with a renowned troupe in Russia.” She stepped onto the table with a dramatic twirl. She then leaned towards Molly conspiratorially. “I even trained as an assassin for a brief time.”

“No!” Molly gasped, leaning down in amazement at the metal woman in front of her.

“It’s true! It is why Mycroft hired me to be his head of security and personal bodyguard,” she replied proudly.

“Mycroft had a head of security?” Molly sat down, awestruck.

“Of course! He is the Master’s brother after all,” Mrs. Hudson chimed in.

“You’re kidding,” Molly breathed, tearing off a piece of bread and dipping it into the bowl of soup in front of her.

“It’s true, miss,” John confirmed as he entered the kitchen. He hoisted himself up Mrs. Hudson’s cart with some difficulty to join them. “Never lets us forget it, either.”

He groaned a joint in his leg stuck for a moment.

“Are you alright, my love?” Mary asked, offering him her shoulder for support.

“I’m fine, Mary,” he replied. “The old knee just needs a little grease, that’s all.”

“I worry that it is needing it more and more frequently,” Mary sighed.

John let out a humorless laugh. “Don’t remind me. I feel more metallic every day.”

“What about you, John? What’s your story?” Molly asked, attempting to distract them from an unpleasant subject.

“I was a dashing soldier,” John replied jovially, smiling flirtatiously at Mary as he gestured to his metal uniform with a bow. “Setting women’s hearts ablaze with my charm and good looks everywhere I went.”

He brought Mary into his arms and dipped her, causing her to laugh.

“Leaving a trail of old flames in your wake, more like,” Mary corrected him.

“Ah, yet they were but cinders compared to you, my dear,” he crooned.

“Don’t get fresh in my kitchen, young man,” Mrs. Hudson warned playfully.

John gave Mrs. Hudson a smile as he made a display of releasing Mary. “After the war, I was in need of a job. A friend of mine told me of a young prince who was in need of a new valet, which led me here. It feels like a lifetime ago,” he sighed. “But my story is nothing compared to Mrs. Hudson’s!”

“Oh, she doesn’t want to hear about me,” Mrs. Hudson dismissed with a laugh.

“But I do!” Molly insisted, through hungry spoonfuls of soup. “This is delicious by the way.”

“Really, Mrs. Hudson, tell her!” Mary coaxed, resting her arms on the rim of Molly’s water glass. “You won’t believe the ways she can spin a story. Makes you feel like you’re right there.”

“Alright,” Mrs. Hudson conceded. “I’ve been the house keeper of this estate for years now. But before that, when I was still a much younger woman, my husband and I ran a little tea shop in London. It was a marvelous little shop, right next door to the bakery,” she sighed happily. “And then I found out about the smuggling operation my husband had going on in the off hours.”

“What did you do?” Molly gasped, captivated by her story. She grabbed the plate of biscuits from the tray and began to scarf them down, transfixed, but soon remembered her manners. “Oh…do you mind?”

Mrs. Hudson smiled, pleased with herself, “Be my guest.”

 

****

“Now, dear, I think it is time that you got to bed,” Mrs. Hudson prompted, escorting Molly out of the kitchen once she was satisfied Molly had eaten her fill.

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly go to sleep now!” Molly insisted. “Can’t I have a look around?”

“There will be plenty of time for that in the morning,” Mrs. Hudson replied maternally. “Off to bed with you, now.”

“Oh very well,” Molly laughed, ascending the main stairs as Mrs. Hudson rolled back to the kitchen.

As she climbed higher, a haunting melody drifted to her ears. Glancing over her shoulder to find that she was alone, she decided to follow it.

The sound of the strings carried her deeper into the heart of the castle, the notes deep and melancholy, past grand tapestries and rows of shining armor. The hall soon grew darker and the furnishings more battered. She wished she’d thought to bring a candle, yet the music compelled her forward.

Soon, the music grew louder as she reached the entrance to a grand suite, the door dangling on its hinges. Hesitantly she stepped inside.

“Hello?” she whispered into the dark.

There was no answer, yet the music continued to play.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” she apologized. “I heard your music and, well, you play so beautifully I thought that I…”

The melody continued uninterrupted. There appeared to be no one but her.

She turned to leave when a portrait on the wall caught her attention. At least, it had been a portrait once. The canvas was nearly in shreds within its frame.

Curiously, she peered up at the subject. Through the slashes she could make out the face of young man with raven curls and striking sea green eyes. As she stepped closer to the painting, a light in her peripheral vision drew her eye. There on display amidst the balcony was a single rose encased in glass. Intrigued by the peculiar sight, she stepped over the disarray of furniture on the floor to get a better look.

Despite the cold, the rose remained in perfect bloom, its petals open towards the sky from within its glass covering. It almost appeared to be suspended in midair, though it was hard to tell through the frost covered glass.

Mesmerized by the rose, she reached slowly to inspect it, unaware that the music had stopped.

“What are you doing here?!”

Molly backed away in shock as his massive form towered over her.

“Do you know what you could have done!” he demanded.

“I-I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t—“

“Get out!” He roared, sweeping a massive paw through the air.

Instantly, Molly fled, sprinting past the shining armor as fast as her feet could carry her to her room, stopping only to grab her cloak before flying back down the winding stairs.

“Miss Hooper?”

She barely registered Mycroft’ voice, knocking over the coatrack in her haste, her fingers trembling as she fumbled with the clasp.

“Ow!” it gasped as it hit the floor.

“I don’t care what I said before. I can’t stay here another minute,” she sobbed.

“No, please wait!” John begged. But she was already out the door.

“Wait, miss! Please. It’s dangerous!” the coatrack called out as she rode Toby across the courtyard and through the gate.

 

The wind began to howl bitterly as they rode through the dark woods, stinging her cheeks.

“Come on, Toby,” Molly pleaded as her mount looked around for the trail. “I think it’s this way.”

They rode on until they reached a dead end. Molly shivered as she dismounted, hoping to find a trail from the ground.

As she pushed through the snow and fallen branches she heard a twig snap behind her. Slowly she turned to see a pack of wolves circling in around them.

“Get behind me, Toby,” she instructed, grabbing the largest branch she could within reach.

Toby whinnied as the pack closed in, stomping his hooves agitatedly.

A wolf snarled at Molly as she held her branch in both hands defensively. Another snapped at Toby’s hind legs, startling him and causing him to kick. His sudden movements knocked Molly off her feet into the snow.

The wolves moved closer to her, snapping at her heels as she fumbled for her lost branch, a branch, anything to keep them at bay.

Suddenly a thundering roar cut through the air, and like a vengeful shadow, her beastly captor descended upon them, coming to her aid.

Molly sat frozen in shock at the frenzied display of fur, and claws, and gnashing teeth before her.

She came to as she saw a wolf prepare to pounce from behind onto her rescuer.

“Look out!” she cried.

The wolf descended upon his back, tearing deep gashes into his flesh as it bit down upon his shoulder.

With a howl of pain and anger, he threw it from his back down into its pack. He let loose a roar that echoed through the trees, challenging the pack to take him on. The wolves cowered and fled back into the woods.

Panting, he turned to Molly as she stared awestruck from the snow. As he attempted to step forward, his eyes rolled back and he collapsed to the ground.

Molly sprang to her feet and rushed to his side.

His eyes fluttered as she checked his head, looking over his injuries.

“Just go,” he croaked, his breath labored in his chest.

Molly looked at him bewildered. Her eyes darted to the snowy horizon, then back to the blood soaked fur of his shoulder.

“Can’t,” she murmured determinedly. “Not like this.”

He turned to meet her eyes, shocked by her reply.

“Can you stand?” she asked, tearing at her cloak to make him a makeshift bandage.

“I-I don’t know…” he managed, dazed.

“Well you’ll have to try,” she informed him. “I don’t think I can lift you on my own.”

With Molly’s assistance, he struggled to his feet. Somehow they managed to hoist him onto Toby’s back.

As they journeyed back to the castle, he attempted to speak to her, but the words failed him.

 

*****  
  
“Ow!” Sherlock complained as she pressed the rag to the gash in his shoulder blade.

“I need you to hold still,” she reminded him, her patience wearing thin. “If I don’t get your wound clean, it may become infected. And I can’t clean it if you keep squirming.”

“Oh, what do you know?” he asked petulantly.

“She’s right, mate,” John informed him from the night stand.

Molly looked up at him with a surprised, appreciative smile.

“Army doctor,” John explained. “Considered going into practice for myself, but the pay was better working for this arrogant—“

“Watch it,” her patient warned, though there was a spark of friendly familiarity in his eye.

“This one will require stitches,” she murmured, setting down her cloth.

The coatrack stepped forward and handed her bag to her.

“Thank you Billy.” She smiled gently up at his carved features as she drew out her medical kit.

The beast shifted to look at the satchel at her feet. “What sort of crowd must you fall into to always carry medical supplies?” he wondered inquisitively.

“The medical kind,” she replied simply, selecting a needle for the job.

He looked up at her curiously.

“Before I came back to Bakersville, I was a student at St. Bartholomew’s hospital in London. I studied almost a year there before Greg sent word his wife Catherine had taken a turn for the worse, asking me to return,” she elaborated.

“I didn’t think they took female students at St. Bartholomew’s,” he mused.

“They don’t,” she answered.

He looked up at her, but her focus was on sterilizing the needle within John’s extended flame.

“And the book on toxins?” he asked, changing the subject.

She smiled, as she thread the needle. “For my own amusement.”

He hummed, intrigued. “Would you mind leaving it here? I’d like something to read while I am on bedrest.”

“Um, if you would like. Yes,” she replied. “So long as you don’t mind reading around my scribblings in the margins.”

“No, I don’t mind,” he answered. “They could prove to be…enlightening. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps,” she echoed.

To her surprise, he lay still as she stitched him up, never once voicing a complaint.

“All finished,” she announced, packing up her kit and standing from the edge of the bed.

“Thank you,” he replied. “And…I’m sorry. For before…My behavior was rather—“

“Beastly?” Molly offered, amiably.

“I was going to say ungentlemanly.” He smiled. “But yes…”

She smiled. “I suppose I can forgive you. After all, you did save my life out there…thank you, by the way. What you did was…you were very brave.”

“You’re welcome,” he murmured, at a loss for words.

Molly started to go, but turned back to face him.

“You never did tell me your name,” she informed him.

He met her eyes as he considered her words. “Sherlock.”

She nodded. “It suits you,” she complimented. “I’ll, um, check in on your progress in the morning.”

“You’re staying?” Sherlock asked, surprised.

“Until you’re recovered,” she replied. “Goodnight to you… Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, Miss Hooper.” He nodded.

“Molly,” she corrected.

“Molly,” Sherlock repeated.

She smiled hesitantly and gave him a shy nod before finally turning to walk out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hesitate to tell me your thoughts in the comments!


	4. the well among the roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft tells Molly of his boyhood, Greg seeks help for a rescue mission, Sherlock gives Molly a surprise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Alternate title to this chapter: *to the tune of Tradition from Fiddler on the Roof* EXPOSITION! (Hopefully it was done well. I wanted to fill in some of the gaps and this was the simplest way I could come up with...)
> 
> Feels ahead. Lots of feels. I had feels writing it...Looking forward to hearing your responses in the comments!

Molly glanced back at the door to the west wing as she made her way back to her room, trying to wrap her mind around the events of the day.

“How is he?” Mycroft inquired, ceasing in his pacing the hall rug when she came into view.

“He’s likely to have an impressive scar when it’s all said and done, but I expect he will make a full recovery,” Molly replied thoughtfully.

“Good.” He gave her what she imagined would have been a satisfied nod had he been human. “May I escort you back to your room?”

Molly smiled. “You needn’t fear me running away again. I’m here as his physician now, not his prisoner.”

“A preferable arrangement to be sure,” he replied absently. “I just felt it was my duty as a gentleman to offer.”

“That’s very kind of you.” She looked down at the man within the mantle clock at her feet, clasping what passed for his hands behind his back as he glanced back at his brother’s room.

“On second thought,” she reconsidered. “Perhaps I could use some assistance finding my way back to my room.”

“As you wish, Miss Hooper.” His tone was casual, but Molly could tell underneath his cool demeanor, he was relieved for the distraction from his thoughts.

They walked in silence for a while down the hall, rather slowly due to Mycroft’s diminished size, but Molly didn’t mind. It gave her time to collect her own thoughts and admire the castle’s architecture.

“The archways are lovely,” Molly commented admiringly.

Mycroft hummed in half interested agreement. “Early Baroque design. I was ever so grateful that our mother saw sense enough to leave them as they were during her love affair with those garish Rococo interiors. I personally have always found the Baroque style to be far more elegant.”

“Well you know what they say…if it’s not Baroque, don’t fix it,” Molly quipped.

Mycroft looked up at her quizzically, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “What a peculiar adage.”

Molly shrugged lightheartedly.

A hint of a smile began to creak across his face. “I remember staring off at those arches when I was a boy. Helped me to clear my head,” he explained. “We spent many a summer here as children.”

Molly smiled, picturing it. “I can only imagine what the games of hide and seek must have been like.”

Mycroft breathed out a laugh. “Games were never my forte. I’m afraid I was a very serious child.”

“You? No!” Molly laughed in mock surprise.

Mycroft glanced at her, attempting to maintain his serious demeanor, and continued. “As heir apparent to the house of Holmes, I spent nearly every minute dedicated to a regimented schedule. I wanted to learn everything I possibly could make use of. History, economics, language, diplomacy, fencing, even architecture.”

“Your tutors must have adored you,” Molly complimented.

He smiled knowingly. “I’m afraid more often than not they found my enthusiasm for my studies tiring. But I was nothing compared to Sherlock.”

“Oh?” Molly asked, intrigued.

“He was an… energetic child. Unruly, though undeniably bright. And all too aware of his aptitude. He once went through eleven tutors in the span of a month. I believe one left within an hour of their first session.”

Molly laughed despite herself. “I’m surprised that we never noticed any of them making their way through Bakersville. To be honest, I had no idea this place even existed before today.”

His smile fell as his expression grew serious. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. That was part of her punishment for us,” he replied, ruefully.

“Who?” she asked hesitantly.

“Eurus,” he sighed. “Our sister.”

“Oh…” Molly nodded, processing. “So she’s the one who…the reason why…”

“The reason we are like this?” Mycroft offered. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“But…how?” she wondered.

Mycroft cast his eyes towards the arches above them, considering his reply.

“While Sherlock and I were intelligent children, Eurus was an entity unto herself. An absolute genius. I suspect it was due to her unparalleled intellect that it took so long for us to notice her… _other_ gifts.” He sighed thoughtfully. “There were moments I recall now that were indications… I once found her in the library, her arm sliced open. She said she wanted to see what her muscles looked like on the inside. So casual…As if we were discussing the latest crops. No sign of any pain…when I asked her, she didn’t even recognize what the sensation was.”

He breathed a humorless laugh. “I of course brought this to our parent’s attention immediately, but when they came to her…she had no sign of injury. Not so much as a scratch. I spent days on bedrest, convinced that I had imagined the whole scene. That my mind was overworked. I should have known…”

Molly felt the urge to reach out and gently pat his shoulder, but thought better of it for the sake of his pride.

“As the years went on, the incidents started to become more frequent. They started small. Little, inexplicable oddities. Then there was the fire in the north tower…and then the young Lord Victor Trevor went missing. Madame Trevor was an advisor and dear friend to our parents and as such, her son Victor became Sherlock’s closest boyhood companion. They were playing in the maze in the south courtyard one moment and the next Victor was just…gone. And there was Eurus, smiling to herself in the rose garden, reading contentedly as she sat by the well. She knew. She knew exactly where he was. But for all that we pressed her, she wouldn’t tell us. She just sat there and smiled. She said Sherlock had to figure it out. Like it was some sort of game to her… We searched for days without a trace of the boy. Sherlock was devastated. He couldn’t sleep. He refused to eat. All the while Eurus would not tell us anything.

“Finally, after almost a week of unfruitful searches, little Victor knocked on the door, shivering and soaked to the bone. He claimed ‘he was a well’… His parents, naturally, assumed he meant he was _in_ a well. It only occurred to my parents and to me after the boy had returned home that we never had a well in the rose garden…”

Molly gasped quietly as her hand flew to her lips.

“I do not know if it ever occurred to Sherlock. He was so young at the time…we never spoke of it again. The Trevors never returned. And Eurus…out of their depth and unsure of what to make of her talents, our parents entrusted our uncle Rudolph with escorting her to a convent in the mountains. We were assured it was somewhere secluded and that the sisters would be able to…handle her. I never heard any more the subject. She was gone before dawn the following morning. Neither Sherlock nor I said goodbye.”

Regret colored his stoic expression.

“Years went by. We heard nothing. We never spoke of her... When we came of age our parents granted us our own estates; the manor on the coast to me, and this estate to Sherlock. I went once to the convent to visit her. Uncle Rudolph had passed and I thought it best that I take over his role in her care. It was too painful for my parents to handle. However, when I arrived, the Abbess informed me that Eurus had escaped from the abbey years ago and had not been seen nor heard from since. Our parents knew nothing of it. Uncle Rudolph had left no answers. No records. Nothing. I searched for her, but it seemed that she did not wish to be found. I never did tell Sherlock…

“We eventually gave up the search and moved on with life. I spent my days in court, forming diplomatic alliances, tending to the family’s finances, and so forth. I met Anthea during that time…We were planning our wedding when I received news that Sherlock’s experimentations had turned…dangerous. He was always a bit reckless but he’d grown more and more negligent with the poisons he was concocting for himself. John was fearful for Sherlock’s life when he finally wrote to me.

“I came at once to see to the matter, Anthea and Mary accompanying me. I fired the head butler for letting the matter get as far out of hand as it had. Sherlock had saved me the trouble of firing nearly the entirety of the rest of the staff. I took over running the household while I, along with what remained of the staff, attempted to slowly bring him and the estate back from the brink.

“That night there was a snow storm. Sherlock was in a mood, but we had purged the house of anything too dangerous, so we left him alone, which is what he wanted… She came that night to test us, to test him, once again. He failed. Even when she revealed herself I do not think he recognized her. It was as if he had erased her completely from his memory. And so…we were each handed a curse fitting of our own crimes. Our fates tied to one of her own beloved blooms. A reminder of her… Sherlock may have been the one to turn her away, but we were equally to blame. _I_ am equally to blame…”

“You were young, Mycroft. What else could you have done?” Molly replied, attempting to comfort him.

He looked sorrowfully up at her. “I ask myself that every day, Miss Hooper,” he sighed. He cleared his throat. “It would seem we’ve reached your room. I shall bid you good night. Forgive me if our conversation was unpleasant...I do appreciate your willingness to listen.”

“Of course.” Molly smiled gently. “Um, Mycroft?”

“Yes, Miss Hooper?” he asked, turning back to her.

“Did…did Eurus say if there was a way for the curse to be broken? Surely she must have…” she wrung her hands uneasily.

Mycroft smiled sadly. “I’m afraid that is for us to worry about, not you, Miss Hooper. You’ve already done us a great kindness in your returning... I shall have Mrs. Hudson attend to your breakfast in the morning. Goodnight, Miss Hooper.”

“Goodnight, Mycroft,” she replied, unsatisfied, but accepting that was all the answer she would receive for now.

With that he tottled off stiffly down the hall, leaving her to enter her room on her own, this time as a guest, not as a prisoner.

 _Perhaps she was the only one who wasn’t,_ she thought to herself as she readied for bed.

*****  
  
The tavern was bustling with activity as James sat sulking by the fire, sipping his third ale.

“Come on now. Cheer up!” Philip encouraged, sitting down beside him, his own pint in hand. “So Molly turned you down. What’s that saying about fishing? There’s always more where that came from! No that’s not it…”

“I’m not interested in fish,” James grumbled, staring into the fire. “ _’I can’t marry you. We just want different things out of life.’_ What’s that even supposed to mean!?”

He threw his empty glass into the fireplace.

“That you and she want different things…?” Philip replied unconfidently.

“That’s just ridiculous. What could she possibly want out of life that I couldn’t give her?” James scoffed.

“Beats me.” Philip shrugged. “You’re the greatest guy I know. I mean, if I were a young lady, I’d—“

James gave him a wary, questioning look.

Philip cleared his throat. “Never mind. The point is…Miss Hooper’s always had her own ideas for her life. Most of which are just not… _normal_. If you’re really serious about winning her hand, maybe you should ask her what some of those ideas are…”

James grabbed the pint from Philip’s hand and glowered into it, drinking deeply. “Since when are you such an expert on the fairer sex?”

“Well, I’m not exactly…I just thought…” Philip floundered with his words.

The door to the tavern burst open as Greg stumbled in, disheveled and wild eyed.

“Help! Please! He’s got Molly!” he pleaded frantically.

“Who’s got Molly?” Angelo asked, standing protectively to his full height.

“That beast. Th-that monster! In the castle in the woods. I was there. Please! I need to get her out of there, you’ve got to help me,” Greg begged, frantically gripping the burly baker’s arms.

“Woah, hang on there, Greg. You sound delirious. Are you feeling alright?” Sally asked in concern as she came from behind the bar. “Sit down a moment. Let me fix you a bit of tea.”

“I don’t want tea! There’s no time!” Greg shouted. “There’s no telling what he’s done to her. I need to get her out of there. Now who’s with me!?”

James stood from his chair confidently. “I’ll help you, Gregory.”

He nudged Philip in the shoulder. “Uh, me too!” Philip added.

“And me,” Angelo agreed heartily. “We all will, won’t we? Gregory has always been an honest man.”

There was a chorus of cheers from the crowd.

“Oh, bless you,” Greg sighed gratefully. “Follow me! There isn’t a moment to lose.”

 

They set out on foot into the woods, Greg leading the way. The hours ticked past and the night air grew colder. Soon the trees all started to look the same. With every retraced step, every turn down a path only to return to where they had started, every _‘no it’s this one, I’m sure!’_ , their search party numbers dwindled. Many promised to continue the search in the daylight hours, but their words were halfhearted at best. Soon it was down to James and Philip shivering as they followed Greg down the same wooden path for the fourth time.

“It’s late, Greg,” James reasoned through chattering teeth, his ears perked, listening for distant sounds within the woods. “I want to find our dear Molly as much as you, believe me, but I think it is best if we head back to Bakersville for the night. You’re no good to Molly like this.”

“I’m fine,” Greg argued, sniffling. “We aren’t far now. Just beyond this bend.”

“Suit yourself. But I’m not getting eaten by wolves tonight,” James declared, turning to leave.

“Come on, mate,” Philip coaxed gently, wrapping his scarf around Greg’s neck. “Can’t help Molly if you catch your death of cold out here tonight.”

Greg shivered and nodded, allowing his friend to lead him by the shoulder back to the village.

*****  
  
“Well? What will it be?” Sherlock asked impatiently.

“I’m thinking!” Molly laughed, walking along beside him down the hall. “You know you have a distinct advantage in this game having known everyone longer.”

“True,” he agreed. “But you have a fresh perspective that I do not.”

Molly smiled and thought a moment longer, drawing out the anticipation for her response.

They’d fallen into an easy companionship, she and Sherlock. What started as a daily walk around the grounds to stretch his muscles and force him to get some much needed fresh air had turned into a pleasant routine for the two of them. Soon, they began seeking out each other’s company, discussing in depth matters of science and literature, often debating the topic of the hour over the course of a dinner. Theirs was a peculiar friendship, but a friendship none the less.

“Arsenic,” she replied finally.

“Arsenic,” he repeated thoughtfully, considering the applications.

“In her cosmetics. It was a fairly common ingredient not all that long ago. Queen Elizabeth used it in her foundation. With the right dosage it would be subtle, but quite lethal,” she stated matter of factly.

“My word, Molly, that is _devious_!” he laughed.

Molly shrugged. “You’re the one who wanted to play ‘Murder’,” she reminded him.

“Yes but I didn’t expect you to win,” he admitted, impressed.

She smiled shyly. “So what was it that you wanted to show me?”

“You’ll see,” he replied coyly.

She eyed him suspiciously but could not help but smile.

Finally, they reached a set of double doors at the end of the hall. He opened them unceremoniously and strode inside, Molly close behind him.

She stopped in her tracks as she looked around at the towering shelves of books around them.

“Are you alright?” he asked, realizing she was no longer following him.

She cradled a large book of anatomy illustrations in her hand delicately. “This is amazing,” she breathed. “I’ve never seen so many books in my entire life. Even St. Bartholomew’s research library didn’t have this many scientific volumes.”

A small, satisfied smile crept across his face. “You’re welcome to as many of them as you like. However, this was not the surprise I had for you.”

“It’s not?” she asked, placing the book back on the shelf lovingly.

“Follow me,” he instructed, nodding his head towards the back of the library.

She followed him curiously until they came to a door at the far end of the library. He opened it to reveal a narrow set of stairs descending into a separate room.

He went in ahead of her, pausing on the stair. “Watch your step,” he cautioned.

She rested her hand gently on his arm to steady herself as she descended the creaking wooden steps. When she reached the bottom he found his way across the room to remove the cover from the sunroof, letting light stream into the cool, stone room.

Molly gasped in delight as the sun illuminated a fully equipped laboratory.

“It’s beautiful!” she breathed, admiring how the beakers sparkled in the light. “Is that an embalming table?!”

“Um, yes it is,” he replied hesitantly.

“I never did get to perform a proper post-mortem  before leaving London,” she sighed, running her hands along the surface reverently. “Thank you for showing me this.”

“So…you like it?” Sherlock asked, hopeful.

“It’s wonderful.” Molly smiled, turning her attention to the jars of specimens on the shelf eagerly.

“Well…then it’s yours,” he announced.

“What?” Molly turned to him, stunned.

“Well, why not?” he reasoned, running a paw along the back of his neck. “I’m in no state to use it, and you’re clearly meant to be a doctor. You should have a space to practice where you can—have I upset you?”

He looked at her worriedly as she sniffled and did her best to blink away the tears that had welled in her eyes.

“You…you really think I could be a doctor?” she asked, a wide smile blooming across her face.

“Of course! You’re already as good as John, and you’ve had half the professional training he’s had. With a little more practice…”

He trailed off as she crossed the room to meet him. She looked up at him, her eyes shining happily, before she suddenly threw her arms around his torso. Unsure what to make of the gesture, he patted her shoulder gently.

“Thank you,” she whispered excitedly, grasping at his forearms as she pulled away all too soon. “Truly, Sherlock, I cannot tell you what this means to me.”

“You’re…you’re welcome,” he replied, finding himself smiling along with her.

She let go of him and twirled around excitedly, looking at the lab. _Her_ lab.

“Oooohh this is so exciting!” she squealed. “I have to tell Mary!”

She laughed giddily as she bounded up the steps, glancing back him for a moment with a look of gratitude before practically running through the library.

He smiled softly back at her as he watched her go, a pleasant warmth building within his chest where she’d pressed her cheek. Yet the space where she’d embraced him also felt suddenly, inexplicably empty.


	5. Something There...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly and Sherlock discuss literature, suitors, and her return to Bakersville.
> 
> The staff observes something different between their beastly master and his beautiful physician.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. Will fix later as I eventually reread and catch them...
> 
> More exposition! But not as much as last chapter...
> 
> As always, I love hearing from you in the comments! Okay now go read :)

Molly laughed as she and Sherlock emerged from the lab, removing the goggles that adorned her face.

“I told you that was too much vinegar,” she chided amicably, opening the library window and wringing out her apron, smiling to herself as the wintery sun met her face. “And you call yourself a chemist.”

“I did say I was out of practice,” he reminded her.

Sherlock did his best to suppress a smile as he noticed the faint red indentations under her eyes where the goggles had pressed against her face. Finding this task more difficult than he anticipated, he turned his attention to re-shelving the stack of books in his arms.

Molly ambled along the length of the bookcases, inspecting the spines idly.

“What have we here?” she murmured excitedly. She stood on tip toe to better view the selection.

Sherlock groaned. “My mother has a fondness for the theater. She spent years devoted to completing her anthology of William Shakespeare’s works.” He smirked to himself as he joined her. “I spent many an afternoon attempting to hide her copies of Romeo and Juliet. I cannot count the times Mycroft and I were forced to recite from that drivel.”

He chuckled to himself, remembering, but soon quieted when Molly did not respond. “I, um, may have been too young to fully understand it’s complexities at the time…I’m told it is one of his more popular works.”

Molly shrugged. “Too sad for my taste,” she replied, reaching for the title she desired. “Although I wouldn’t exactly call a cautionary tale against the dangers of senseless blood feuds _drivel._ ”

She glanced up at him with an amused smirk.

He chuckled, “You see? That lesson was completely lost on my younger self.”

“I imagine you were far too busy following the misadventures of the Prince of Denmark to give the events in fair Verona much thought,” Molly ventured.

Sherlock shrugged noncommittally. “I mostly preferred to focus my energies towards the nonfiction reading material I was given….but yes, I do recall Hamlet being somewhat enjoyable…What pray tell is your favorite?”

Molly smiled, replacing the volume of poems she’d been idly inspecting and revealed the cover of her selection. “Much Ado About Nothing. I've always preferred comedies, personally. Real life has enough tragedy as it is. But in this one…” She hugged the book to her chest. “Even when everything goes wrong, it all sorts out for the better in the end. I don’t know... There’s just something comforting in that. Michael always teases me for how many times I have reread it.”

“Suitor of yours?” Sherlock inquired casually.

Molly burst out in a laugh. “Oh, good heavens, no! No, nothing like that.”

“You sound as if you find the idea of having a suitor ridiculous. Surely a woman of your a—“

Molly raised an eyebrow up at him.

“Acumen…” he corrected himself, “must have had her share of men seeking her hand.”

Molly leaned her back against the bookcase, breathing out a humorless laugh. “No offers worth considering, I can assure you.”

He mirrored her position, inclining his head toward her curiously.

A small smile crossed her face at the gesture. “There isn’t much to tell,” she assured him. “Not long before coming here, actually, I received an offer of sorts, if you can even call it that, from the Sheriff of Bakersville, James Moriarty. We were schoolmates when we were children, before Papa had us move for his work.” Her expression brightened slightly. “Papa was a merchant. A bit of a carpenter too, like Greg...” she clarified.

Molly inspected the cuff of her sleeve as she continued, “To be honest, James’ attentions when I returned were surprising and…a bit unsettling. It wasn’t as if we’d courted in the past. I was only eleven when we left Bakersville... But it seems that over the years, James nursed a schoolboy fantasy into some long lost romance and simply assigned my name to it.”

“That sounds rather unhealthy,” Sherlock mused, his features contorting as he considered the discomfort Molly must have felt from such advances. “I assume you refused him?”

“Naturally,” Molly replied firmly. “I could never accept such an arrangement. All fantasies with nothing of substance to withstand it. No, James and I were never meant for each other. We’re too different. He holds no affection for who I really am, or what I really want for my life… just the idea he’s built for himself. I’m certain he has no real interest in _me_.” She smiled self-deprecatingly. “Who would?”

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply and closed it, second guessing himself. It went unnoticed by Molly, as she had turned her attentions back to the bookshelves.

“Ooh! Gulliver’s Travels! I loved this book when I was little,” she gasped, brightening as she knelt to pull it from the shelf. “I used to make Greg read it to me when Papa was away.”

“What about your mother?” Sherlock asked, amused.

Molly shrugged as she sat herself on the floor, arranging her skirts around her. “Mama read to us occasionally, but more often than not Greg was the one who looked after me. I mostly remember Mama being in and out of the house helping the young women of the village deliver their babies. She was a midwife. A great one, too. I learned a lot from her growing up. I even worked as a midwife myself for a while to help with the cost of the tuition at St. Bartholomew’s…” She smiled to herself, running a finger along the edge of the book’s binding. “But even when she was home, I still preferred when Greg would read to me. He did the best voices.”

Her expression grew distant and somber, her smile fading.

“What is it?” Sherlock asked gently, coming to sit beside her.

Molly shook her head, attempting to brush it off. “Nothing, I just…” She met his opalescent eyes, so full of concern.

She sighed and replied honestly, “Before I went away to London, Greg married his wife, Catherine. She was his everything. I’d never seen him so happy as when he was with her. He couldn’t wait to be a father, to build a life and a family with her. They bought a little farm back in Bakersville, set up a nursery… Catherine was so excited when she was finally with child. But there were complications. She started to grow weak. She thought it was nothing—a side effect of the morning sickness—and dismissed it. When she took a turn for the worse, the local doctor insisted he could do nothing for her. I left the instant I received Greg’s letter…She lost the baby the day before I arrived. She died two days later…”

Molly sniffed and smiled sadly. “I was just thinking what a shame it is that my nephew will never get to hear Greg’s voice for the King of Lilliput.”

“You’ve stayed with him ever since,” he murmured, taking in what she’d told him.

She nodded. “I found him in the barn with a ladder in hand and a rope around his neck the day of her funeral. There was no way that I could leave him…”

Sherlock’s expression fell further. He looked down into his lap before meeting her eyes.

“I should have never called your brother a thief…I’m so sorry, Molly.”

Molly smiled thoughtfully. “Thank you, Sherlock.” She took his paw in her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Lucky for us, our stories aren’t over yet.”

He smiled softly in return, seeing the light return to warm her brown eyes.

“Pardon me, dears,” Mrs. Hudson announced, her cart rolling through the doorway. “I’ve just finished with the tea. Did you want to take it in here?”

“Well, um,” Sherlock fumbled.

“No, that’s fine,” Molly replied for him, her hand drifting back to her side as she stood. “We can read this in the dining room.”

“Oh. Um, alright…” Sherlock stood to follow her but paused as he reached the shelves of Shakespeare. His eyes drifted from the gilded spines to Molly and back before he selected the small volume of poetry she’d held earlier.

“Are you coming?” Molly asked, smiling back at him from the doorway.

“Yes!” he answered, quickly tucking the book into his jacket pocket and out of sight.

He strode casually to her, closing the distance between them. “So what _does_ the King of Lilliput sound like?” he wondered aloud slyly.

“Oh, wouldn’t you like to know!” Molly taunted playfully.

*****

  
“That’s alright, Wiggins. Try again,” Sherlock encouraged.

Billy sighed and lifted the violin again. “You always made it look so easy,” he sighed. 

“Only after years of practice, and several horrendously expensive tutors.” Sherlock shrugged, shifting the weight of his cello slightly, until it was more comfortable. “Ready to give it another go?”

Billy nodded and the two of them began to play.

“Knock, knock,” Molly announced herself, letting herself in through the open door of the west wing. “Sorry! Are we interrupting?”

Sherlock’s grip slipped on the bow, causing it to screech unpleasantly across the strings.

“Molly! Hello. We were, um…”

Molly looked up at him curiously as she set Mary down gently.

“Thank you for the lift, Molly,” the tiny ballerina winked up at her, making her way across the floor towards the desk where John was lounging, looking bored.

“Master Sherlock’s been giving me violin lessons,” Billy explained. “I always did want to learn. He’s rather good, Miss.”

“I was,” Sherlock corrected. “Cello is all I can manage now with _these_.” He waved a paw, rolling his eyes.

Molly smiled. “I should have known that was you I heard playing. You play beautifully.”

Sherlock ran a paw along his neck shyly. “Helps me think…Did you need something?”

“I thought an afternoon walk around the grounds might be nice,” she answered with a shrug. “But it can wait if you’re busy.”

“Actually, I think we’re done for the day, Miss,” Billy piped up.

“We are?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, sir. We _are_.” Billy jerked his head slightly towards the door, motioning subtly for him to go.

“Right.” Sherlock nodded, catching on. He stood and crossed the room for his coat. “Still cold as ever outside?”

Molly chuckled. “With a fresh layer of snow last night.”

“Perfect,” Sherlock laughed, wincing slightly as he worked his bad shoulder into his sleeve. “Tell me, Molly. How are you at ice skating?”

“I can hold my own,” Molly stated confidently.

Sherlock nodded. “Alright,” he replied skeptically.

“You don’t believe me?” Molly laughed.

“I didn’t say that.” Sherlock smiled, feigning innocence.

Molly looked up at him challengingly. “Race you!”

With that, she turned and took off down the hall.

“Hey!” he laughed, running after her, nearly crashing into Mycroft on his way out.

Mycroft adjusted his pendulum, blinking as he watched his brother run down the hall like an excited child.

“What on earth has gotten into him?” he wondered, unamused, as he stepped into the room.

Mary smiled to herself as she made the climb to the window overlooking the courtyard below.

“Mary, you don’t think…” John puzzled, following her.

“Oh but I do, my dear,” she assured him with a knowing giggle. “There’s definitely something there.”

“What makes you so sure?” Mycroft asked, skeptically.

“Well, just look at them!” She gestured below them as the two in question ran across the courtyard towards the pond.

As Sherlock caught up to Molly he lifted her in the air by the waist, causing her to shriek with laughter. Once she was on solid ground, Molly was quick to retaliate with a well thrown snowball. Soon their skates were abandoned in favor of hurling snow at each other. Before long they had collapsed into a fit of laughter on the ground. They lay there, their conversation unheard to the lookers on above.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” John asked.

“I don’t think the subject of conversation matters, darling,” Mary told him, linking her arm with his.

 

Below in the courtyard, Molly gasped, breathless from laughter and exhausted as she lay in the snow.

“I lied,” she confessed, staring up at the sky. “I haven’t skated since I was a girl. And even then I was terrible at it.”

Sherlock chuckled as he brushed himself off, getting to his feet. “Would you like me to teach you?”

Molly chewed her lip, hesitant as she considered his offer.

“I won’t let you fall, I promise,” he assured her, offering his arm to help her up.

Molly looked up at him, studying his face. Something about the way he smiled at her made her heart flutter in her chest slightly.

“Alright,” she agreed, taking his paw as she got up. “But first, you have to help me find those skates…”

“I think you threw them over there,” Sherlock chuckled, pointing across the lawn.

“Oh, yes! Right after you threw that mountain of snow at me,” she teased.

 

“My word…” Mycroft breathed as they stepped onto the ice. “He really has become quite taken with her.”

“Something tells me he’s not the only one,” Mary agreed, pointing to Molly who was now grinning shyly as she gripped his arm, her legs wobbling beneath her.

“Perhaps,” Mycroft sighed. “But are they willing to admit these feelings to themselves?”

“Or to each other, for that matter,” John added.

“Who can say…but there’s always hope,” Mary said, turning back to the window.

“You really think so, my love?” John wondered.

“What’s this book of poems doing here?” Billy asked, inspecting the small volume on the end table.

“Let me see that,” John requested.

Billy brought the book over to them, propping it against the windowsill.

“He’s dog-eared this one,” Mary observed, turning to the page.

They all gathered around the book, curious what poem could have possibly caught Sherlock’s eye.

 _Those lips that Love’s own hand did make_  
_Breathed forth the sound that said ‘I hate,’_  
_To me that languish’d for her sake._  
_but when she saw my woeful state,_  
_Straight in her heart did mercy come,_  
_Chiding that tongue that ever sweet_  
_Was used in giving gentle doom;_  
_And taught it thus anew to greet;_  
_‘I hate’ she alter’d with an end,_  
_That follow’d it as gentle day_  
_Doth follow night, who, like a fiend,_  
_From heaven to hell is flown away;_  
_‘I hate’ from hate away she threw_  
_And saved my life, saying ‘not you.’_

“Oh my,” Mary whispered, her tiny metal hand coming to her lips.

They all looked back out to their friends, skating unaware of their audience.

“Yes, I’d dare say there is hope yet,” Mary breathed.


	6. Not Mine to Give

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James attempts to persuade Greg to see things from his point of view

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is mostly a Greg chapter. It was almost a lot longer but I ultimately decided the flash back I had written didn't fit like I wanted it to and scrapped it. I may end up posting it to Tumblr as a deleted scene... At any rate there is much more Sherlolly to come so hang on to your hats!
> 
> Unbeta'd...I apologize for any mistakes. I'll fix them as I catch them.  
> As always, I love hearing from you in the comments!

Molly descended stairs, letter in hand, humming to herself.

“Good afternoon, Billy,” she greeted cheerily.

“Afternoon, Miss,” Billy replied, bowing his wooden form to her slightly. “You seem especially chipper today, if you don’t mind my sayin’ so.”

“Do I?” Molly smiled absently. “Just looking forward to another day in the lab, I guess.”

“I take it that your research with the master is going well?”

“Yes, he’s rather enjoyable. _It’s_ rather enjoyable, I mean. Not that Sherlock isn’t. I just…Um, I have something for you, actually. Well, for you to send, I suppose,” she fumbled. “I thought it best that I send Greg another update on how things are progressing here. I wouldn’t want him to worry. Do you know if he has sent a reply yet?”

The Footman’s carved features contorted apologetically. “No Miss. I’m afraid your letters never reached him.”

“What do you mean?” Molly asked.

He wrung his wooden hands uneasily. “The pigeons we sent…they never made it out of the woods. The wolves got to them somehow. After they had their fun with them, they left the carcasses outside the gate to be sure we got the message.”

“Oh…” Molly breathed in astonishment.

“It’s the spell, Miss,” Billy explained sadly. “No outside contacts allowed…but we’re thinking up a new strategy for our next attempt if you would like me to still take the letter.”

“It’s worth a try, I suppose,” Molly replied halfheartedly, handing him the envelope.

“Molly!” Sherlock smiled as he descended the stairs, several books tucked under his arm. “What would you say to helping me sweet talk Mrs. Hudson into making up a batch of ginger nuts?”

“I’d say there’s no food allowed in my lab, Sherlock,” Molly reminded him teasingly.

Sherlock put on a theatrical pout, his eyes pleading.

“Oh fine,” Molly laughed. “Although you really should learn to bake them yourself.”

Sherlock considered this as they walked together towards the kitchen, intrigued. “I suppose baking is a certain type of chemistry…”

“On second thought, forget I said anything,” Molly said, noting the twinkle in his eye.

He grinned mischievously at her.

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t give me that look, Sherlock. You know how much Mrs. Hudson adores her kitchen…”

Sherlock shrugged. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Molly shook her head, trying very hard not to smile along with him…and failing quite miserably.

 

*****

Greg ran a hand through his hair as he leaned on the bridge railing, looking down at the quiet waters of the river below. The face of the man reflecting back at him looked tired, older. Much older than he knew he should look at his age. He sighed, triggering a series of coughs that rattled through his chest. The weeks of fruitless searches had not been kind. Casting his face to the sky, he wondered how much more he would be able to take. He feared he did not want to know the answer.

“Good afternoon, Gregory,” Janine greeted pleasantly, coming to meet him on the bridge.

“Janine,” Greg nodded, smiling politely as he straightened his posture.

“I um…I brought you something. Thought you might like something to eat while you’re out there.” Janine reached into her basket and pulled out a wrapped parcel, handing it to him.

Greg smiled. “That’s very kind of you… I take it Angelo will not be joining me this afternoon?”

Janine shook her head regretfully. “I’m sorry, Greg. Papa just…”

Greg lifted a hand, saving her from having to make up an excuse. “It’s alright. I understand. Your father’s a good man. He stuck with me longer than most… I know how all these endless searches must look to everyone. What sort of man I’ve become...”

“It looks to me like you’re a kind man who cares very much about his sister’s wellbeing,” Janine told him comfortingly, taking a step closer. “Papa thinks so too. Although he does worry…”

Greg nodded. “Surely, he must understand why I have to keep trying.”

She nodded understandingly. “Meena and I have been forbidden from leaving town,” Janine replied, a small, amused smirk crossing her face.

“I can’t say I blame him,” Greg chuckled.

Hesitantly Janine reached out and took his hand in hers. “He’s not the only one who is worried about you, you know. You’re wearing yourself ragged…Promise me you will take care of yourself?”

Greg looked at her in surprise. “Um, sure…yes. I’ll try.”

Janine smiled wistfully and released his hand after giving him a light, reassuring squeeze.

“That’s all I ask,” she replied. “Good luck to you, Greg.”

Greg watched her depart, unsure of what to make of what had just transpired.

 

“What do you suppose all that was about?” James wondered, watching the baker’s daughter depart from the porch of the tavern. “Could it be the lovely Janine is smitten with Bakerville’s most eligible widower? What a tantalizing development.”

“Maybe.” Philip shrugged. “I don’t know if I see anything coming of it, realistically. As comely as Janine may be, Greg is hardly ready to move on. And even if he was interested, can you really see Angelo granting his blessing for his daughter to marry a widowed carpenter? Angelo’s fond of him personally, sure, but poor Lestrade doesn’t have much more to his name than that old farm and a bin full of carvings.”

James considered this. “Fair point, my friend…Do you really suppose her father’s blessing would make or break such an arrangement?”

“Oh, most certainly. You know what a father’s opinion means to a lady,” Philip replied assuredly.

“Anderson, you have just given me the most delicious idea,” James said with a grin.

“I did?” Philip asked, befuddled.

“I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner. It’s so simple…” James murmured to himself as he began to pace.

“Care to enlighten me?” Philip prompted.

“Don’t you see?” James grabbed the taller man by the lapel excitedly. “Whose opinion does Molly trust above all others? Who is her advisor, her confidant? Her brother, that’s who! And with her father six feet under, our dear Gregory is the one who must give his blessing to her betrothed… All I need to do to win Molly’s hand is convince her brother that she and I are a good match. The best match. The _right_ match for Molly’s future.”

“But Greg doesn’t like you that much,” Philip reminded him skeptically.

“A minor detail,” James replied confidently, releasing Philip. “You forget, my friend…I can be very persuasive.”

 

Greg exhaled tiredly as he saw the two men approaching with their horses.

“Just you lot today?” he asked.

“I’m afraid so,” Philip apologized.

“No matter. I’m just happy to have someone who’s still willing to carry on with me,” Greg replied.

“Of course we are,” James assured him, slinging an arm around Greg’s shoulder. “We’ll find Molly yet, mate. Don’t you worry! I have a good feeling about tonight.”

Greg eyed the younger man warily, but opted not to question one of his few remaining allies.

“Let’s get a move on then,” he agreed.

 

They rode through the woods in relative quiet, Greg on Philip’s old mare, the other men on their own horses respectively.

“So… how is the farm treating you?” James inquired, his fifth attempt at starting a conversation.

“About as well as anyone, given the rains,” Greg replied absently.

James could tell he was getting nowhere with him. “Say, have I ever invited you to join me on a hunt of my land? The pheasants are more bountiful than ever this year.”

“Never been much for pheasant hunting,” Greg murmured, keeping his attention fixed on the surrounding woods. “I’m starting to recognize the trees along this way.”

“You said that last outing,” Philip groused to himself, hardly above a whisper.

James motioned to Philip to be patient.

“You know, Greg…Molly’s a lucky woman to have a brother who cares so much about her,” James commented.

“Molly and I have always looked out for one another. It’s what siblings do,” Greg informed him, checking his compass.

“Of course.” James nodded in agreement. “Greg, I hope you know that I will always look after Molly. And I’d like to look after you too if you’ll let me…brother.”

Greg did his best to withhold a sigh as he rolled his eyes. “James, really—“

James kept going, “Molly is a lovely woman. But you must realize that her prospects are dwindling. Now, I am in a position to offer you a substantial bride price—“

“Is that why you’ve come out here?” Greg interrupted. “To bribe me into giving you my sister’s hand in marriage?”

“Well I wouldn’t say _bribe_ exactly…” James argued, attempting to turn the conversation back in his favor.

“Listen, James.” Greg held up a hand. “Molly isn’t interested, alright? You need to move on.”

James clenched his jaw, taking a breath. “I disagree. True, Molly may not hold the same affection for me now, but you cannot argue that I am likely the best offer she is going to receive. After all the time she spent taking care of you—“

“Don’t try to guilt me into this, James,” Greg warned. “I know what Molly has given up for me. I _know_ what she sacrificed. She’s a smart woman. She could have made so much more of her life if she hadn’t insisted on staying to look after my sorry behind. But that’s just who Molly is. She’s like that. She’s stubborn and persistent and kindhearted. Do you really expect me to repay that kindness, that _selflessness_ , by bargaining her away to a man she has no desire to marry? My sister’s hand is not mine to give.”

 James persisted. “But naturally you must want what is best for her. I could provide for her, shower her with jewels and fine—“

“She doesn’t love you!” Greg spat back.

James blinked in response, shocked by the sudden retort.

Greg breathed out a humorless laugh. “If you hold such low assumptions of my sister, of what would make her happy…You are not worthy of her. I think you should go. I will carry on the search on my own.”

James inhaled sharply through his nose, his fists clenched. Philip, who had been doing his best to stay out of this progressively awkward situation, placed himself between the two men.

“Let me talk to him, James,” he whispered.

James fought to keep his expression smooth, his dark eyes flashing. “I’d hoped that we could be friends, Gregory. Settle this like gentlemen. I can see now that I was wrong.”

He turned his horse down the path and rode towards Bakersville.

Greg sighed as Philip came beside him. “I do not understand why you befriend a man like that, Philip.”

“He saved my life,” Philip replied.

Greg looked skeptically at his companion. 

“No, it is true!” Philp defended. “We were in the militia together. We served side by side during the skirmishes with the North a few years back. I had the night watch one evening... I’m ashamed to say it, but I dozed off at my post. We’d been on our feet for days straight, trying to keep them at bay and I was exhausted. We all were… James came to relieve me of my post and found one of their scouts sneaking up on our camp. He was right over me when James shot him clean through the skull. I could have had my throat slit right then and there were it not for him. It was his courage that led us to victory in the end. He and I have been friends ever since…"

Greg considered this, but still looked unimpressed.

“I know he can be a bit much, but it’s only because he’s passionate. He’s got ambition. He can’t help but get fixated when he sets his sights on a goal. But he's not as bad as you think. He protects his own and he’s well connected. Molly could do worse…”

“She could do better, too,” Greg argued.

“I’ll try talking to him. Get him to ease up a bit. Perhaps if he didn’t come on so strong, Molly would see a different side of him,” Philip offered.

“It’s more than just coming on too strong, Phil,” Greg sighed. “He doesn’t respect Molly. He doesn’t value what she wants out of life or who she is. He just seeks to possess her. He has made that evident time and time again. She deserves more than that.”

Philip nodded solemnly, seeing that his friend’s mind had been made up. And were he in Greg’s shoes, he wondered if he would respond any differently…

“Well…shall we get back to finding the lady in question so she can give us her thoughts on the matter once and for all?” Phil suggested.

“You’re not heading back to the village?” Greg asked, surprised.

“I’m not leaving you out here alone,” Philip laughed. “Someone’s got to keep an eye on you while Molly’s…wherever she is."

"Trapped by a beast in a castle," Greg reminded him.

"Right...well at any rate, we can’t have you falling in a ditch somewhere looking for her. You still owe me a rocking chair for Beatrice.”

 

They searched the woods over for the lost trail to the castle until the light faded beyond the horizon. Having brought no lanterns, and with Greg’s shivering growing more worrisome to Philip, they returned home for the night.

Philip sighed as he entered his barn, resting his head against the post, wondering just how he’d gotten himself wedged so deeply in the middle of things. And wondering which of his friends, so apposing in view, was right.

“Well?” James asked from the shadows, startling Philip from his pondering.

Philip cleared his throat. “His mind is made up. If you wish to marry Miss Hooper, she must accept you herself…I tried. I really did.”

James nodded thoughtfully. “Water your horse and saddle up. We’ve got a long ride ahead.”

“You don’t really suppose we are going to find her on our own?” Philip retorted. “We’ve been searching those woods for weeks! There’s no sign of where she could have gone. I hate to say it, but when someone has been missing this long, they’re usually…”

“We’re not going in search of Molly this time,” James replied simply. “We’re going to pay a friend of mine a visit. Greg wants to do this the hard way? Then we’re doing this the hard way.” He pushed the reigns into Philip’s hand. “Don’t dawdle.”

Philip watched as James exited the barn, his steps purposeful.

_What have you gotten yourself into, Philip?_


	7. Ever just the same, ever a surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Philip starts to question James. 
> 
> Sherlock and Molly share a dance! 
> 
> "Tale as old as time..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine and will be fixed eventually.
> 
> Sorry for the delay in update. Attempting to balance everyday life with writing is hard...
> 
> Please, please, please tell me your thoughts in the comments!

“Remind me what we are doing here?” Philip groused impatiently as they stood outside the gate of the Baskerville Asylum.

“Procuring some leverage,” James replied, inspecting his cuticles.

“I don’t understand,” Philip admitted, confused.

“You never do,” James chuckled. “Since Greg refused to take me up on my generous offer, we’re going to give Molly a little incentive to reconsider.”

“But Molly’s gone,” Philip argued, baffled.

“She’ll be back. Wherever it is that she went, she would never leave her pathetic sad-sack of a brother for long.” James wrinkled his nose in distaste, finding a hang nail. “Mark my words. She’ll turn up. And when she does, I’ll offer her my ultimatum. Her hand in marriage for her brother’s freedom.”

“You’re…you’re going to have Greg committed?!” Philip’s jaw hung slack.

James shrugged. “You’ve seen his behavior these past weeks. No one would blame me if I did.”

“But he’s been looking for Molly. Trying to get her back from—“

“From a castle in the woods that doesn’t exist,” James retorted, rolling his eyes. “My tracking skills are unrivaled, Philip. If there was a trail to a castle or some upper class estate within this county, don’t you think I would know about it?”

“Well…maybe…But committing him? Don’t you think that’s a step too far?” Philip asked, attempting to reason with him.

“I tried doing things the easy way. He wouldn’t see reason.” James picked a speck of lint from his sleeve.

Philip took a deep breath. “James, I really don’t—“

“What? Would you care to join him? Because I can arrange that,” James spat back venomously.

Philip stared wide eyed at him, shocked.

James softened his expression, placing a hand on the taller man’s shoulder. “That was harsh of me. I just…I just need to know you’re on my side, Phil. Molly isn’t going to give me a chance to prove myself to her on her own. You know that. True, it isn’t the most delightful option, but life isn’t always a fairytale. Sometimes you’ve got to work the situation in your favor any way you can. Gregory will be fine. This is all just a bargaining ploy, I promise.” He ducked his head to look Philip in the eye, giving him a little smile. “Still with me, my friend?”

Philip sighed and nodded. “Of course…Still with you. Forgive me for doubting you.”

“Think nothing of it,” James assured him, patting his shoulder. “Just don’t do it again, eh?”

A tall, well-dressed man approached them at the gate. He appeared to be coming in for a day’s work.

“Sebastian!” James greeted familiarly, opening his arms to the man.

“Moriarty? What on Earth could you possibly want at this hour?” Sebastian sighed.

“I have a proposition for you, my friend,” James explained, throwing his arm around the man’s shoulder, steering him away from the gate. “You look hungry. Let’s talk over a nice breakfast.”

“I have work to attend to,” Sebastian replied dismissively, fishing for his keys.

“Your playthings can wait. Besides…you know I always make it worth your while.” James presented a hefty coin purse from his belt, holding it up playfully.

Sebastian raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Now that you mention it, I am feeling rather famished,” he said, snatching the coin purse.

“One needs to start the day off right,” James agreed, walking down the path with him.

Philip looked uneasily back at the looming halls of the asylum. Drawing his coat a little tighter, he followed after the two men ahead of him.

 

*****

  
“Oh! And then there was the time that Lady Smallwood became decidedly flirtatious with Mycroft after her third glass of port,” Sherlock laughed as he and Molly strolled about the castle, the blustery afternoon cutting their walk about the grounds short. “I wish I could have seen the look on his face, although Mary’s impression of it isn’t far off, I am sure. It wasn’t long after that Anthea made her own feelings _abundantly_ clear to him.”

“I can imagine so,” Molly chuckled, having become familiar with Anthea’s forthright exuberance.

Sherlock smirked, rolling his eyes. “Spending the season with my parents…An experience inexplicably rife with awkward encounters.”

“Sounds absolutely torturous,” Molly teased.

She paused curiously, noticing the grand double doors to their right. “Hold on, what’s in this room?”

Molly opened the doors and stepped inside. She gasped in delight as she took in the sun drenched ballroom.

“I haven’t been in here in ages. I probably should have thought to have had it tidied,” Sherlock apologized, noting the dusty cloth covered chandeliers above them.

“It’s lovely,” Molly reassured him, taking in the splendor of the cavernous room.

Sherlock smiled to himself as he watched her meander about, her eyes alight as she took in every feature. “You should have seen the balls my mother used to host here. She always did love a spectacle.”

He reached to remove a dust cover from the wall, wincing as his shoulder stiffened in protest.

“You haven’t done your stretches today, have you?” Molly reprimanded with a sly smile.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock dismissed, folding the dusty sheet.

She smiled, shaking her head as she came to meet him. “Give me your arm,” she instructed.

“Molly, really…” Sherlock laughed in protest, doing as he was instructed.

She smirked triumphantly as she took his wrist in hand, guiding his arm through the stretch. “Tell me more about these grand soirees your mother used to host,” she prompted, hoping to distract him from the exercise.

Sherlock chuckled, knowing her tactics all too well by now. “I remember them being incredibly boisterous occasions. Candles everywhere. The ladies of court seemingly in competition with one another to see just how many frills could be added to a gown before it became too cumbersome to dance in.”

“Sounds delightful,” Molly replied thoughtfully, picturing it.

Sherlock looked down at her, struck by the grace of the movement of her limbs with his, her proximity to him. It was not altogether unlike that of a dance partner. In fact, were he to reach out and touch her waist…

“Have you ever been to a ball, Molly?” he asked, curiously.

Molly smiled shyly and nodded. “Once. When I was sixteen. It was nice, though not quite as grand as those you’ve attended. I remember thinking how pretty all the couples looked together, watching all the skirts swishing about.”

“Didn’t you dance at all?” Sherlock wondered

Molly shrugged. “A little. I’m afraid I was a bit of a wallflower…but I didn’t mind much. And the music was enjoyable.”

Sherlock considered this, feeling a sudden emptiness as she released his arm.

“What do you say we have a dance tonight?” he asked, the words tumbling from his lips before he could comprehend them.

“What?” Molly laughed, surprised.

“Why not? This place is certainly due for one. And you would never be without a partner, such as I am,” Sherlock offered, the words once again seemingly coming forth of their own volition.

Molly smile widened, but she still seemed unsure. “It sounds wonderful, but you needn’t trouble yourself for my sake.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” he assured her. “Consider it a thank you for all you’ve done. And besides, I’m quite fond of dancing.”

Molly pondered this information, intrigued.

“Alright,” she agreed.

“Wonderful! I’ll see to the arrangements.” Sherlock took her hand and gave her a short, courtly bow before turning and exiting the room. As he shut the door behind him, he blinked, wondering what on earth had just come over him.

“Mycroft!” he called out, marching off in search of his brother. “Mycroft!”

He found his brother in the kitchen, polishing the silver. “Ah, good, there you are. See to it that the ballroom is made spotless for this evening. We’re having a dance tonight.”

“I beg your pardon?” Mycroft set aside his polishing cloth.

“You know...Music, candles, dresses—Oh, that reminds me! How fast do you think Anthea can make a dress for Molly?” Sherlock asked, pacing agitatedly.

“Slow down,” Mycroft huffed. “Why are we having a dance tonight?”

“Because we were in the ballroom and I asked Molly if she wanted to have one tonight and she agreed,” Sherlock replied, not slowing down in the slightest.

“ _You_ asked Molly to have a dance tonight?” Mycroft repeated, making sure he heard his brother correctly.

“Yes. I’m not sure how exactly it happened. The words just sort of kept coming…I think I might be ill.” Sherlock bit his lip worriedly as he turned to his brother. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Mycroft continued to grin up at his brother from his place on the table, shaking his head. “After all this time…Come along. We’ve got work to do, brother mine.”

*****

Mary wobbled slightly as she perched on Molly’s shoulder, her tiny metal fingers grasping Molly’s tresses for support.

“Molly, dear, I need you to stop fidgeting. I’m nearly finished, I promise,” she informed her, turning her attention back to securing a pesky tendril of hair.

“Sorry,” Molly apologized, clasping her hands in front of her. “…Are you sure this isn’t too much fabric? I feel like this is a _lot_ of fabric.”

“It’s a ball gown, ma chérie. It needs to _flow_ ,” Anthea reassured her as she adjusted the hem.

Molly nodded understandingly, letting out an uneasy breath.

“You seem nervous,” Mary observed, her tone gently prodding.

“I suppose I am, a little,” Molly confessed. “It isn’t that I am not looking forward to it. I am! It was such a wonderfully thoughtful gesture on Sherlock’s part, but…he’s never seen me like this.” She gestured to the mass of golden fabric around her. “I’m not a princess, or a duchess, or anything like that. I’m just _me_ … I’m afraid that he’ll think I look silly.”

Mary and Anthea shared a glance.

Anthea was the first to speak. “Trust me, Molly. ‘ _Silly’_ will be the farthest word from his mind when he sees you.”

“You think so?” Molly wondered.

“I know so,” Anthea asserted.

“Something tells me Sherlock may be feeling just as jittery as you,” Mary reassured her.

Molly let out a laugh. “I doubt it.”

 

“I look ridiculous!” Sherlock groaned, ripping the cravat from his throat and tossing it aside, landing it squarely on Mycroft’s face.

“Do be careful, Sherlock. This is silk,” Mycroft admonished.

“Come now, Sherlock. Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine. Show me that dashing, debonair smile, huh?” John encouraged, taking the discarded garment from Mycroft.

Sherlock flashed his teeth hesitantly.

John winced. “…Maybe not quite like that…”

Sherlock put his head down in defeat.

“Oh, come on. It’s not so bad,” John chuckled. “I think the blue coat brings out your eyes.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and set about tying a new cravat.

John sat casually on the edge of the vanity.

“So…” he said, grinning up at his friend. “Are you going to tell her tonight?”

“Tell her what?” Sherlock sighed.

“How you feel, of course!” John laughed. “It’s the perfect time to sweep her off her feet. Declare your undying affections for her. Dancing, candlelight, a walk under the stars, just the two of you…” John waggled his metal brow at Sherlock. “Who would have guessed you for being such a romantic? I must admit, it is a much more impressive tactic than how most men usually go about wooing a lady.”

“And how is it usually done?” Sherlock asked, uninterestedly.

John shrugged. “Oh, you know. Flowers, chocolates…”

“Promises you don’t intend to keep,” Mycroft interjected under his breath.

John smirked, amused by Mycroft’s cynical view of the average man. “This is better, I assure you. So…?” he prompted, drawing out the last syllable excitedly.

“I don’t think I can,” Sherlock murmured.

“What? Why not?” John demanded.

“Well…” Sherlock turned to his brother, hoping he could help explain.

Mycroft crossed his arms determinedly. “I’m with Dr. Watson on this one. Why not? You care for Miss Hooper, do you not?”

Sherlock sighed, “More than anything…”

“So tell her,” John prodded gently.

“How?” Sherlock wondered, looking down at his friend.

John smiled reassuringly up at him. “Just be honest with her.”

Sherlock looked at his friend skeptically.

“Trust me. You can do this, mate,” John encouraged.

Mycroft nodded in agreement. “Don’t keep her waiting, brother mine.”

Sherlock took a deep, steadying breath. Straightening his jacket, he exited the west wing for the ballroom.

“Do you think he will actually tell her?” John wondered, watching him go.

“We can only hope so,” Mycroft sighed, casting his gaze towards the rose on the balcony, only a few precious petals remaining. “There isn’t much time left.”

 

Molly looked down at the subtle floral pattern of her skirt, trying her hardest to move without tripping over the mass of fabric. Even with the help of the enchantment, she was amazed by how quickly Anthea had brought the gown together. And she had to admit, despite her hesitance, it felt like a dream to wear.

The sound of footsteps drew her attention upward. Across from her, Sherlock approached from the west wing dressed in a sapphire hued suit. He stopped short, awestruck, as his eyes met hers. A soft smile bloomed across his face as Molly dipped her head shyly, smiling in return. Sherlock cleared his throat, reminding himself to move forward as they met in the middle.

“Hello,” Molly greeted shyly.

“Hello,” he echoed. “You, um, you look…that color suits you.”

“Thank you!” Molly smiled. “Anthea quite outdid herself. I must admit, when I saw myself in the mirror I thought I might almost pass for someone special.”

“You are someone special,” Sherlock murmured.

A blush warmed Molly’s cheeks as she looked up at him in surprise.

They stood wordlessly at the top of the stairs for a moment, before Sherlock remembered himself and offered her his arm.

“Shall we?”

Molly threaded her arm with his, resting her hand lightly in the crook of his elbow, a shy smile on her lips.

As they descended the stairs, Sherlock found himself continually glancing down at Molly. She was a vision in satin, the gown around her petite form like woven sunlight. She was every bit as elegant as any noblewoman could hope to be, without being diminished by pretense or peacocking frills. The gown was simply an outward representation of her own warmth, her own grace. She looked all the more the sweet essence that was Molly Hooper. And that, in his eyes, was far superior to any lady of court.

Billy met them at the entrance to the ballroom, violin in his grasp. Bowing to the two of them, the footman opened the door, revealing the sparkling interior.

The chandeliers were all alight, twinkling as they reflected off the polished window panes and mirrored walls.

“What do you think?” Sherlock asked hopefully.

Molly’s awe stuck smile was all the answer he needed.

Billy quietly placed his music stand along the edge of the dancefloor. Setting the bow to the strings, he began to play, the simple melody filling up the room.

Sherlock swallowed nervously as Molly turned to him. His massive form suddenly felt cumbersome, his paws clumsy and disproportionate to Molly’s small frame.

Sensing his hesitation, Molly reached out, gently placing his paw along the curve of her waist, positioning herself accordingly. She smiled up at him encouragingly, and soon he found them moving in time together to the music.

“I see your music lessons are going well,” Molly complimented, nodding her head towards the wooden musician at the edge of the room.

“He’s been practicing. Always eager to please,” Sherlock chuckled.

Molly listened intently, letting Sherlock guide her steps as she thought.

“I’m sure I’ve heard the melody before, but something is different about it,” she mused.

“You’re probably used to hearing me play it.” Sherlock seemed amused as he glanced towards the edge of the dance floor. “Wiggins has proven to be prone to adding his own little embellishments to my compositions. I can’t fault him for his enthusiasm though, I suppose.”

Molly looked up, fixing her eyes on him.

“You wrote this?” she breathed.

“Yes,” he replied hesitantly, shyly avoiding meeting her gaze. Glancing down at her, he added, “Do you…do you like it?”

“Yes,” she murmured, smiling softly up at him. “Very much.”

Sherlock found he could not help but smile in kind as her eyes held his.

“I’m glad to hear it,” he confessed. He was almost certain she could feel his heartbeat, the way it was pounding in his chest. “I…wrote it with you in mind.”

She blinked up at him, a breathless ‘oh’ escaped her lips. She felt her breath quicken as her cheeks warmed at this admission.

Words failing her, Molly adjusted her grip, holding him a little tighter.

They danced about the room, the music filling the silence between them. Molly felt herself gravitating closer towards him, feeling safe and secure in his presence. She smiled to herself as she felt his hold tighten around her, drawing her in further. Hazarding a glance up at him through her lashes, she allowed herself to let her cheek rest against his chest, reveling in the comfort of his arms.

Outside the ballroom, Mrs. Hudson peered through the keyhole at the dancing couple beyond the double doors. John spun Mary in his arms as they swayed happily about the floor, the sound of Billy’s musical refrains seeping out into the hall.

“How is it going?” Mycroft whispered, straining to see through the crack in the door.

“He’s doing rather well, I’d say,” Mrs. Hudson chuckled in reply. “My, my, I’d forgotten how that boy could dance.”

Mycroft sniffed, feeling his brother’s dancing skills were never in question. It could practically be considered a family trait. His curiosity soon took place of his offense and he returned his attention to trying to catch a glimpse into the room.

 

* * *

 

 _For those interested, here are the Tale as old as time instrumental videos I listened to while writing. **[Cello version](https://youtu.be/KCalmyHtreM),**_   ** _[Violin version](https://youtu.be/wCZzUtV1r_Q) _ ** _. I took inspiration for Molly's gown from **[this](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/85/45/e9/8545e96dd6f7cf19d6ecba45ac06939a.jpg) **  dress, but imagined with a fuller skirt to make it slightly more fairytale/period appropriate-ish. According to Pinterest, it is a Charles Frederick Worth design from 1902. I had to hoped to find a more rococo style dress as well, but the top of this dress was spot on. _

_Don't forget to share your thoughts in the comments! I love hearing from you!_


	8. There isn't much time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg gets into a confrontation at the tavern. Sherlock gives Molly the enchanted mirror as decisions are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been struggling to make time to write these days, so thank you to those of you who have waited for this update. You're the real mvp!
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! 
> 
> (I'm actually going to go see the local community theater production of Beauty and the Beast this weekend! Hopefully that will spark an update sooner rather than later. Time allowing... Again thank you so much for your patience. Now go read!)

Sherlock led Molly out onto the moonlit terrace to take in the night air, the clear sky above them giving the wintery landscape a silver glow.

Molly sighed admiringly, casting her eyes upward at the sea of stars above them. A part of Sherlock suddenly wished he had paid better attention to his astronomy lessons as a boy so that he might map out the sky for her. But seeing Molly standing there beside him, her eyes sparkling with wonder…no star could compare to her radiance.

“Molly?” Sherlock asked finally, hesitant to disturb the stillness of the moment. “Are you…happy here? With me?”

She smiled brightly, taking his paw in her hand, looking up into his eyes. “Yes, Sherlock. I can scarcely recall a time when I have been happier than in the time I’ve spent with you.”

Sherlock breathed out a smile as he grasped her other hand, gazing down at her. He felt slightly dizzy, almost weightless, as her words rang in his ears. But his heart fell slightly as he noticed a sadness in her eyes.

“But?” he asked gently, reaching to lightly caress her cheek, slipping his digits through her hair.

Molly closed her eyes, leaning into his touch momentarily.

“It’s silly of me, but I can’t help but worry about Greg,” she replied. “He hasn’t received any of my letters. I can only imagine what he must be thinking, the way things were when we last spoke… I just wish I knew if he was alright.”

Sherlock nodded regretfully, letting his arm slip back to his side. Staring out at the icy courtyard, an idea dawned on him.

“There is a way to find out,” he informed her.

 

*****

The village tavern was bustling with its usual evening crowd as James sauntered over from the bar to his chair by the fire.

Shooing Kitty out of his seat with a wave of his hand, he asked, “Anything interesting to report, ladies?”

Kitty reclined at his feet, draping her hands over his knee. “Several farms have had their hens go missing within the last fortnight. Meanwhile, Miss Sawyer has recently dropped the price of eggs by nearly a third for the first time this season. Seems a bit suspicious, wouldn’t you say?”

“Eggs, Kitty? Really?” Irene chuckled derisively as she began to rub James’ neck. Leaning down, she murmured in his ear, “I’ve got a lad who shot his neighbor’s prized cow. Buried it in out in the pasture and never confessed. He’s willing to pay a pretty sum to keep it quiet.”

James sighed, rolling his eyes. “What is it with you girls and livestock this evening? Eliza, dear, tell me you have something better for me.”

The dark haired maiden stood by the fire, inspecting the small pocket mirror in her palm.

“Mr. Dimmock is stirring up supporters around the outskirts of town. Word has it he is looking to replace you as Sheriff by next spring.”

“Now that’s more like it,” James chuckled, sitting forward to give her his full attention. “How many supporters? Any I should worry about?”

She smiled, amused. “Five so far, but they are a malleable lot. Nothing a few choice words from you won’t correct.”

James hummed in satisfaction, reclining back in his chair with a grin. “Perfect. You do know how I love reminding people who is in charge. ”  

The door opened across the room, letting in the drafty night air. The crowd grew hush as Greg entered, crossing the floor to the bar. He ordered himself a glass of whiskey, downing it in one gulp.

Turning to the room, he announced, “I’ll be heading out again…in case anyone cares to help me find my sister. You all remember Molly. The woman who has given you nothing but kindness, caring for your wives and children in their hour of need, even as you thanklessly mocked her chosen profession behind her back.”

His speech was met with an awkward, guilty silence, punctuated with the occasional scuffle of a chair being sheepishly turned away.

“That’s what I thought,” Greg sighed, setting down the payment for his drink on the bar.

“Gregory…” James stood from his chair, extending his arms peacefully as he approached the man.

“You can stay, Mr. Moriarty. You and I have nothing further to say to one another,” Greg retorted, shooting him a tired, warning glare.

“I’m just concerned for you. We all are. You’ve been at this for so long…Don’t you think it is time to accept the truth?” James asked, continuing his approach cautiously.

“And what might that be? Due enlighten me,” Greg huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Greg…my friend…we all know what’s really going on. Molly left. She was bound to eventually. It’s time for you to accept that. Let go of this delusion. Why don’t you just tell us where she is and put this all to rest, eh?” James replied gently, now standing within arm’s reach of him.

Greg blinked in disbelief. “I am not delusional! Molly is out there, right now, being held captive by that-that beast! There’s no telling what he’s done to her. I don’t care if any of you believe me or not. I am going back out there and I am going to find her and bring her home, no matter how long it takes!” he declared, his volume escalating as he became more agitated.

“Listen to yourself, man!” James pleaded, placing a hand on Greg’s shoulder, preventing him from leaving.

Pulling him back in, James leaned closer and lowered his voice so that just the two of them could hear. “Drop the act. I know you’ve hidden her somewhere to keep her from me. You’ve done well, I’ll give you that. But know that I _will_ find her and she _will_ marry me. I always get what I want one way or another. It’s just a matter of time.”

Greg breathed out a humorless laugh. “You could have a thousand lifetimes and Molly still would never marry you. Have you forgotten our conversation so quickly, _Sheriff_?”

“Oh, I never forget, Lestrade. But I can be willing to forgive. Just tell me where Molly is before I’m forced to do something drastic.”

Greg scoffed under his breath but James tightened his grip and continued, his tone sickeningly sweet, “Perhaps you’d be more willing to comply after spending some time in a damp, dark little cell at Baskerville Asylum. Although with your declining health, I doubt you would last very long.”

“It’s you who belongs in an asylum,” Greg hissed, slipping free of the James’ grasp. “I suppose I should be thankful, in a way. At least in that wretched castle Molly is safe from the likes of you.”

“So you’ve made up your mind. I really can’t persuade you to help me?” James murmured.

“I’d rather rot than betray my sister.” Greg gave him a challenging smirk before he strode towards the door.

James took a steadying breath through his nose as he glowered at the back of Greg’s head.

Raising his voice for the whole room to hear, he called after him, “Believe whatever you want, Greg. Molly couldn’t be kept here forever. You know that. I mean, can you honestly be so surprised after the way your pretty Catherine was always looking for an escape from your miserable little farm life?”

A hush fell over the crowd as Greg stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, his steps carrying him purposefully back towards their sheriff.

James chuckled as he watched Greg’s eyes flash, coming toe to toe with him once more. “You didn’t really think that child was _yours_ , did you?”

Nostrils flairing, Greg reeled back and let his fist fly, striking James squarely across the jaw.

James grinned wildly just for him as he wiped the blood from his lip. Plastering on a pained expression for the crowd, he beckoned sadly, “Angelo, restrain Mr. Lestrade. He has clearly become a danger to others and himself. Miss Donovan, guard the door.”

“Yes, sir,” Sally replied solemnly. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Greg as she made her way out from behind the bar.  

“I’m sorry, Gregory. This is for your own good,” Angelo apologized, wrapping a calloused hand around Greg’s arm.

“He’s lying,” Greg protested dejectedly, meeting the burly baker’s eyes. “He’s manipulating all of you for his own gain. He’s just trying to force my hand. Get under my skin… You know I’m not crazy, Angelo. He’s lying…You know that Catherine would have never…”

Angelo looked sadly down at him as Greg bit back tears, too bone tired and weak to put up a struggle.

“I wish I did, lad. I wish I did…”

Greg hung his head and allowed Angelo to take him away.

“Anderson, go out and fetch Mr. Moran.” James snapped his fingers at the lanky man whom had just maneuvered his way past Sally as she went to bar the door.  “Alert him that our deal is now in motion.”

 “Already? But I thought…” Philip whispered, glancing back at Greg who was being escorted off to the storage room behind the bar.

“Just do it!” James ordered.

Philip closed his mouth and nodded slowly, doing his best to ignore the gnawing feeling in his gut as he walked out the door.

 

******

  
Molly smiled curiously as Sherlock led her to the balcony of the west wing.

“This mirror will show you anything you ask to see,” he explained, handing it gently to her.

Molly pressed her lips together, glancing from him to her reflection.

“I-I’d like to see my brother, please,” she requested, hesitantly.

Her eyes widened as the mirror’s surface began to shimmer and change before her. She gasped as the mirror revealed a darkened cellar with Greg sitting shackled to a barrel of ale. A cough rattled through his thin frame.  So much thinner than she remembered…

“W-where is he? Why is he in chains? He should be in bed,” Molly demanded, her lips trembling as she stared down at the image of her brother, looking so frail.

The mirrors surface shimmered again, this time morphing into the village tavern’s interior. A crowd of their neighbors watched intently as Greg and James argued in hushed tones. But their voices rang as distinctly as if she were right there with them.

Molly’s grip tightened around the mirror’s handle as she heard James’ whispered threats followed by the sound of Greg’s fist swiftly connecting with its intended target.

“No,” she whispered, watching helplessly as Angelo restrained him, leading him away. “No. Angelo, no! Why are they just standing there? Someone help him!”

Sherlock turned, bracing himself on the table. His eyes rested on the glass case of the rose, its wilted form staring back at him.

“Baskerville is not much farther from town than we are. If you leave now there may still be time to save him,” he informed her.

“Leave?” Molly repeated, looking up at him in bewilderment. “I can’t just leave. What about the wolves? The enchantment? What about you?”

Sherlock smiled softly at her. “Don’t worry about me, Doctor Hooper. I believe after our turn about the dance floor I can say with confidence that I am nearly fully recovered from my injuries. Thanks to you.”

She shook her head at his cheeky remark, meeting his eyes as he stepped closer, gently folding her grip over the mirror underneath his own.

“Take the mirror with you. It will guide you there safely. And you can use it to look back…and remember me,” he murmured.

Molly looked up at him, searching for words.

“Molly, there isn’t much time. You must go. Now,” Sherlock urged gently.

Molly reached her satin clad hand to cradle his cheek.

“Thank you, Sherlock,” she whispered.

Holding the mirror to her chest, she turned and hurried out the door, her golden skirts fluttering about her with every step.

She passed John on her way down the hall as the tiny metal soldier made his way to check on his friend.

“Where’s Molly off to in such a hurry?” he asked, popping his head into Sherlock’s chambers with a suggestive grin. “Down to the kitchen for a bottle of wine, perhaps? You did very well tonight, my friend. And if we’re lucky, the night is still young.”

“Molly is on her way back to Bakersville to help her brother. I told her she should leave immediately while she still had time,” Sherlock replied quietly, his back to his diminished valet as he watched the courtyard below.

John stared in disbelief at his friend. “Why would you tell her to leave? After all this time and the long walks, the lingering gazes, a-and tonight with the dancing! Sherlock, you’re so close, I can feel it. Why would you push her out the door now?”

“I had to. She needed to help her family and what Molly needs matters more to me than anything else,” Sherlock sighed.

“And why is that?” John prompted, knowing the answer.

“Because,” Sherlock murmured, turning to look at him, “I love her.”

John nodded solemnly, climbing the railing to stand and watch the snow fall with him.

“I’m sorry that I had not reached that conclusion sooner, for all of your sakes,” Sherlock apologized thoughtfully, his eyes on the horizon.

A sad smile broke across John’s metal face. “It’s alright, mate,” he replied.


	9. He's my friend...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Molly stages a rescue. Philip learns the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I have been taking forever with updates, so thank you for sticking with me!
> 
> unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Please don't hesitate to let me know your thoughts in the comments!

The wind whipped around, stinging Molly’s cheeks as she rode out into the night, the magic mirror held tightly in her hand.

“Come on, Toby,” she urged, her steed’s hooves flying across the snowy forest floor.

The wintery drifts soon melted away, yielding to the temperate calm of the familiar woodland paths that surrounded Bakersville. As they broke through the forest’s edge, Molly could see the town square filling with flickering torchlight in the distance.

“Hang on, Greg,” she whispered, white knuckling the mirrors handle as Toby galloped across the grassy hillside.

 

Meanwhile, an anxious crowd began to spill into the streets as Mr. Moran drove the Baskerville Asylum Wagon through the heart of town, stopping outside the tavern door.

Greg struggled against the grip of James’ cronies as the two men hauled him unceremoniously out by the arms, following dutifully on the heels of their sheriff.

“This him?” Sebastian inquired, hopping from the driver’s seat.

“It is indeed,” James replied, glancing at Greg with contempt as he handed Sebastian a coin purse from his coat. “The other half of your payment, as promised.”

“How kind of you,” Sebastian laughed, inspecting the purse’s contents. He smirked as he noted James’ bloodied lip. “He didn’t want to go quietly, I see.”

James glowered, rolling his eyes. “He got lucky.”

Sebastian shrugged, pocketing the purse. “Lucky or not, I’m glad he’s still got some fire in him. They’re so much more fun to break when there is a little fight left in their eyes.”

“Do whatever you like, Sebastian. Just remember that I still need him alive for now,” James reminded him, turning to look at the crowd that was gathering around them. “Time to gather the herd.”

“What’s all this?” Michael asked, stepping forward in his night cap and dressing gown.

James stepped forward to address the crowd. “Return to your homes. Everything is fine. There’s nothing to see here.”

 “Don’t listen to him! He’s nothing but a two faced lia-ooof!” Greg’s hoarse shouts were silenced by a boot to the gut from one of James’s thugs.

“Get him in the wagon,” James hissed through clenched teeth. Plastering on a smile he replied, “Mister Lestrade has not been himself lately, as we all know. My associate and I are just trying to get him the help he needs.”

“It looks to me like he is in need of a doctor and bedrest. Not an asylum,” Michael argued.

“Don’t trouble yourself, sir. We’ll take good care of him in Baskerville,” Sebastian assured him with a smarmy grin.

“Like hell you will,” Michael muttered stepping forward defensively. He was stopped short as James’ hand met his chest.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr. Stamford. We don’t want to make a scene in front of the women and children, now do we? Perhaps if you cannot handle the excitement, it would be best if you returned home,” James warned, his voice hardly above a whisper.

Michael met his steely gaze, balling his hands into fists at his side, before stepping back into the crowd.

Unhitching his horse from Sebastian’s wagon, Philip did his best to skirt the edge of the crowd unnoticed.

“Philip? Philip what’s going on?”

He felt his heart drop into his stomach as his wife’s voice cut through the crowd, pressing forward to meet him.

“Beatrice, please, go back inside,” he implored, adjusting her shawl more snuggly around her against the chill of the night air.

“Is that Mister Lestrade? What’s the Sheriff talking about?” Beatrice asked, standing on her toes to try to catch a glimpse over his shoulder.

“Darling, please… I don’t want you to see this,” Philip pleaded.

“See what? Philip, what aren’t you telling me?” she took her husband’s hand in earnest, begging him to look her in the eye.

Before he could reply, the sound of clattering hooves against the cobblestones filled the square as a familiar chestnut gelding came to a halt before them, Molly Hooper astride his back.

“Where is Greg?” Molly demanded.

James stared up at her, his mouth agape. “Molly! My beloved…We’ve been looking for you everywhere. Where on earth have you been?”

Molly dismounted, ignoring him and the murmuring crowd behind him, stalking towards his goons like a cloud of golden rage as her skirts fluttered and swished around her. “ _Well_?”

The weaker willed of the two broke first, his eyes darting nervously towards the wagon. Sebastian stepped aside in self-preservation as she threw open the barred door.

“Molly?” Greg breathed in awe as she threw her arms around him.

“It’s me. It’s okay, it’s me,” she soothed, hugging him tight.

She turned, fixing her fiery gaze on James. “Care to explain yourself, Sheriff?”

James sighed. “Molly, dearest, your brother has been behaving rather erratically in your absence. He’s been searching the woods for a castle to rescue you from some imagined beast holding you captive like a deranged lunatic. Ask anyone. They can attest to it. I only sought to provide him the help he needs to be rid of his delusions.”

Ripples of agreement sounded from the townsfolk.

“But they weren’t delusions! I’ve just come from the castle,” Molly protested.

The crowd began to talk in hushed tones, pondering this new revelation.

“And I suppose a horrible beast held you prisoner this whole time?” James replied skeptically.

“Well, not exactly…but he is real!” she fumbled, taken aback.

“I’m afraid I can’t take you at your word. You’d say anything to protect your brother,” he maintained, successfully swaying most of the onlookers back onto his side.

He stepped toward her, taking her hand. “But perhaps we can come to an arrangement,” he added in a sultry tone.

“An arrangement?” she repeated warily. “What sort of arrangement?”

James grinned wolfishly, stroking her ring finger with his thumb. “You know what I want from you, Molly. One little word and I can make this whole ugly business go away.”

“Never,” Molly retorted, ripping her hand away.

Turning to address the crowd she declared. “My brother is not crazy and I can prove it!” Holding the mirror out in front of her, she commanded, “Show me Sherlock.”

The mirror rippled as she extended it for all to see. The people gasped in horror as Sherlock’s hulking form paced about the shadowy west wing. He turned his gaze to the small volume of poems on the table. Closing his eyes, his fist flew wildly, smashing into the tabletop and scattering its contents about the floor as he let out a roar of anguish.

“Oh, Sherlock, stop that. You’ll hurt yourself again,” Molly pleaded, her heart aching as she watched him, wishing she could ease his distress.

“Is he dangerous?” Janine asked, summoning the courage to speak.

“Oh, no! Please, I know he looks vicious, but he wouldn’t harm anyone,” Molly replied. “He’s so much more than what meets the eye, truly. He’s kind, and gentle, and supportive, and _brilliant_ …he’s my friend.”

Molly smiled softly to herself, caressing the mirrors edge.

James narrowed his eyes, studying her expression. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you cared for that abomination.”

He snatched the mirror from her hands, addressing the crowd. “Clearly this beast has placed her under its spell! It’ll destroy all of us before long. First its magic corrupted the mind of the once sane, respectable Mister Lestrade, and now his sister. There’s no telling what it could make them do! And who will it come for next? Your children?!”

The crowd broke out in agitated whispers. “I say we storm the castle and rid the land of this monster once and for all!”

“He’s no monster, James. You are!” Molly lashed out, pulling at his arm as she attempted to retrieve the mirror from his grasp.

James scoffed, gesturing to her derisively as if proving his point as he shoved her off of him. “The ravings of a madwoman! Lock her up as well. We can’t have her running off to warn the monster!”

“No!” Molly cried, struggling as one of his cronies hauled her into the wagon with Greg, slamming the door shut. “Please, no!”

But her cries fell on deaf ears as James rounded up the villagers, stoking their fears into an angry mob.

“Show me the way to the castle,” James commanded the mirror.

Its surface shimmered, revealing the woodland path.

Smirking satisfactorily, he beckoned Philip to his side, shoving the mirror into his hands. “Take this and saddle my horse. I must prepare for the hunt of a lifetime.”

Philip opened his mouth to reply, but could not muster the words. His shoulders drooped, he marched toward the stables, avoiding his wife’s worried gaze.

 

 

A brute squad was formed with James at the helm, leading the charge. Philip rode alongside him, holding the mirror dejectedly in his hand.

“James…I’ve been thinking,” Philip began hesitantly.

James smirked, glancing over at him. “That’s a dangerous past time for you.”

“I know…” Philip mumbled, twisting the reins in his hand. “It’s just…this all seems a bit extreme, don’t you think? Maybe it would be better if we all took a step back. Thought about this rationally.”

James shook his head. “A hunter does not take a step back. He takes action. I will not rest until that monster’s head is on my wall. If it thinks it can enchant my bride it’s got another thing coming.”

James spurred his horse forward, his eyes fixed on the horizon.

Philip sighed, hanging back as the rest of the mob followed James in the charge. He worried his lip as his eyes fell on the mirror. Lifting it cautiously, he stared at the guilt riddled man looking back at him.

Swallowing, he closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath.

“Sh-show me the monster. I’d like to know what I’m up against…”

The mirror’s surface shimmered, revealing James’ icy gaze as he rode toward the castle.

“No…No, that’s not right! I know he’s done some bad things lately but…but that doesn’t make him a monster…He saved my life. He put an end to the months of ceaseless fighting. H-he’s my friend…” Philip argued, desperately clinging to what he’d come to depend on.

The mirror shifted again, this time revealing a quiet countryside, a ramshackle fort piercing the starlit sky.

“That’s our old camp…No, I know what happened that night. I was there,” Philip protested weakly.

The mirror focused on a slumped figure Philip recognized as himself, his head drooped against his rumpled uniform as he leaned against the wall of his post, sound asleep.

“Why are you showing me this?” Philip asked, his voice trembling.

The mirror stayed fixed on the scene as James’ unmistakable profile stepped forth from the camp to relieve him of his watch.

 _“Lazy halfwit,”_ Philip heard James mutter under his breath. His friend’s head shot up at the sound of a twig snapping a short distance away.

 _“Who’s there? Show yourself.”_ James demanded, staring out into the dark, his rifle at the ready.

 _“Cadet Carl Powers, s-sir,”_ a young man’s voice stammered as he stepped forward from the bushes, waving a white handkerchief. Philip felt his heart clench as he saw the boy’s face. He couldn’t have been more than 14 years old. “I’m here on behalf of General Sholto t-to deliver a message, sir. General Sholto would like to request, I mean t-to negotiate a cease fire…a truce, sir.”

Philip gripped the mirror tighter as they boys words rang in his ears.

 _“Is that so?”_ James wondered, lowering his rifle slightly. _“Why?”_

Cadet Powers blinked in confusion at the question as he slowly approached, hands lifted. Unarmed.

_“Sir…Our supplies are low. The men that we still have left can hardly stand from exhaustion. We have soldiers preparing for battle when they should be in bed healing, if not preparing for their eternal rest… We are simple farmers and country folk, sir. We fight these skirmishes as the orders come from on high, yet we do not get to ask why we are fighting in the first place… I’m tired, sir. I want to go home to my mum and my family. I’m sure your men must feel much the same…”_

James began to chuckle, lowering his rifle to idly inspect the flint.

Cadet Powers shifted uncomfortably as he waited. _“S-so will you deliver the message, sir?”_

James smiled, amused. _“Mmm…No.”_

 _“Sir?”_ The boy could not believe his ears.

_“I decline your General’s request for armistice. We fight at dawn as scheduled.”_

The Cadet’s brow furrowed, processing James’ words. _“Sir, I promised my General that I would deliver his message. I-I demand that you take me to your commanding officer.”_

James let out a derisive laugh, still toying with his rifle.

Cadet Powers swallowed and set his jaw, determined _. “I will fulfill my duty, sir. This fighting must come to an end.”_

James tutted as the cadet approached Philip’s sleeping form, attempting to wake him. _“Now, now boy. I can’t let you do that. Not when I’m having so much fun.”_

The shot rang out, echoing through the trees as Philip watched in horror.

“No…” he whispered, tears spilling from his eyes as he watched James lie to his younger self, hiding the fallen Cadet’s handkerchief and message from view. “How could I have been so blind?...Dear God, what have I done…”

His thoughts turned to his friends—his _true_ friends that he had betrayed. Pulling himself together, Philip turned his horse back towards the village.

 

*****

  
The asylum’s wagon bounced along the woodland path towards Baskerville. Molly sat slumped against Greg’s shoulder inside, her hair hanging loose and her fingers raw as she stared dejectedly at the bent and broken hair pins scattered about the wagon floor in front of her, a monument to her failed attempts at escape.

“This is all my fault,” she murmured, sniffling. “I thought that I could show them…I should have known they wouldn’t listen to me. That they wouldn’t understand... I’m sorry, Greg. If I’d have accepted James’ proposal at least you and Sherlock would be safe. I…I just couldn’t do it. It’s selfish of me, but I just couldn’t.”

“Shhhh. That doesn’t sound like the Molly I know,” Greg soothed. “There’s nothing to apologize for. We’ll figure this out.”

Molly sniffed and tried to smile as he patted her hand.

Greg turned slightly to better see her face. “…Did you really mean all of what you said back there? About tha-...him?”

Molly nodded. “Every word. Oh, Greg, I tried to write to you. Sherlock is so different from what we first thought him to be. He feels terrible about what he did to you.”

Greg chuckled. “He ought to.”

Molly nudged him in gentle reprimand but smiled herself.

“Tell me what happened. It will help pass the time,” Greg prompted.

“There’s so much to tell,” Molly said, wondering where to begin. “He was rude and arrogant at the start. He demanded I have dinner with him. I demanded he apologize first for his behavior.”

Greg laughed. “That sounds about right.”

Molly shook her head at his teasing and continued. “I tried to run away after he frightened me when I found the rose in the west wing and I nearly got myself killed by wolves in the woods. But he rescued me. Protected me…he was injured because of it so I brought him back to the castle and stayed to nurse him back to health.”

“I see…now what was it about a rose? I still haven’t figured out what the big deal is,” Greg wondered.

“It has to do with the curse his sister placed on him and the castle,” Molly explained. “His brother, Mycroft—the mantel clock—explained it after I brought Sherlock back. I haven’t quite figured out how to break the spell. Mycroft never told me that part…”

Greg nodded, taking this in. “That...clears up a few things, I suppose. Then what happened?”

Molly smiled to herself, hugging her knees to her chest. “We sort of became friends after that. Taking walks around the grounds, discussing literature and science…He gave me a lab. My own lab! Can you believe that? It’s even better than the ones they had at St. Bartholomew’s. Sherlock really is one of the best lab partners that I’ve had, even if he is a bit impulsive at times.” Molly chuckled to herself. “Just this morning he suggested that we have a dance for the two of us just because I admired the ballroom.”

“Well that explains the dress,” Greg replied. “It sounds to me that you’ve become very fond of this Sherlock fellow.”

“I am,” Molly admitted. “I…”

Just then the wagon came to a halt. Mr. Moran’s voice could be heard speaking to someone, followed by the sound of a smack and a thud against the wagon.

The chambers of the lock clicked into place and the wagon door flew open, Michael Stamford’s smiling face greeting them on the other side.

“Michael?! What are you doing here?” Molly gasped.

“Rescuing the two of you, of course!” Michael said as he helped her down. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Anderson?”

Molly turned to see Philip nursing his hand by the driver’s seat of the wagon as his wife tied up an unconscious Mr. Moran.

“Philip?” Molly could hardly believe her eyes.

“I couldn’t shake the feeling that this whole mess wasn’t right and well…this showed me the error of my ways,” Philip replied sheepishly, handing the mirror to her. “I was a fool to have followed James like I did. I’m sorry that I didn’t listen when you tried to help me see reason. I hope the two of you can find it in your hearts to forgive me.”

“Well, yes. But how did you find us?” Molly wondered.

“I helped them track you down,” Beatrice interjected proudly.

“Turns out my wife is a master at hunting wild mushrooms,” Philip added admiringly. “She knows these woods even better than James. Who’d have guessed it?”

 “Where did you think I was all those mornings when I made your favorite mushroom soup?” Beatrice laughed, hopping down to tend to her husband’s knuckles.

“I’m afraid that I had not given your activities enough thought or enough credit, my dear,” he admitted, stroking her cheek. “But no more. It is time I learned from Miss Hooper’s advice.”

Molly smiled. Tapping her shoulder, Michael drew her back to the present, placing Toby’s reins in her hand. “We’ll take care of Mr. Moran. You get yourself to that castle.”

Molly turned to Greg.

“Go on! I’m in good hands,” he assured her. “Go save Sherlock.”

Biting back tears, she smiled and hugged Greg tightly before mounting Toby.

Nodding to her rescue team, she held the mirror out in front of her. “Lead me to him.”

Greg watched proudly as his sister rode off into the night. Feeling more himself than he had in ages, he looked from Mr. Moran to Michael, giving the apothecary a mischievous smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave your thoughts or just say hi in the comments!
> 
> Fun fact: Carl almost showed up in a very different flashback scene that delved further into Molly and Greg's back story as well as their relationship with their parents, James as a boy, etc. I ultimately decided to cut it for a number of reasons, but I still have it saved because it includes a conversation between Greg and his step father and I couldn't part with the scene completely. So if anyone is interested in a "deleted scene" let me know!


	10. Under attack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lead by James, the villagers storm the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaack!!!!
> 
> First off, I want to apologize for the long wait between updates. I recently got involved with my local community theatre doing costumes and we just finished our season ending show. That, mixed in with other craziness in life lead to not a lot of time to write. But I'm on vacation now! So here's an update to our Sherlolly tale as old as time.
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. Written and posted using my phone, so I apologize for any formatting goof ups. Will attempt to fix when I get home in a few days...
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! Thank you for being so patient and for sticking with me!

“So that’s it, then. She’s gone,” Mycroft said  matter of factly when John told them the news of Molly’s departure.

“It would seem so,” John replied, sitting down beside Mary to rest against the base of the music box.

Mary lay her head against John's shoulder with a wistful sigh. “And we were so close.”

“Serves us right for getting our hopes up,” Mycroft muttered bitterly. “Maybe it would have been better if she had never come at all.”

“Now, Mycroft, I know you don’t truly believe that,” Mrs. Hudson reprimanded. “Molly will come back. I just know it.”

“Perhaps. But will she return before it is too late?” Anthea wondered.

This gave Mrs. Hudson pause, her silence speaking aloud what they all feared. The dejected quiet of the room was soon interrupted by the muffled sound of activity coming from the courtyard.

“Is it her?” John asked hopefully as they all scrambled towards the window.

They peered out to see an angry mob spilling in through the castle gate.

“Oh dear,” Mrs. Hudson breathed.

“Invaders,” Mycroft hissed, his eyes narrowed at the throng gathered below. Straightening his posture he turned to them, assuming command. “Mrs. Hudson, warn Sherlock. Everyone else, prepare for battle. If it’s a fight they want, we’ll be ready for them.”

They nodded in reply, turning to set out on their assignments.

“The castle should barricade itself against the attack for a time, but even with the enchantment it will only hold so long,” John said, helping Mary down from the ledge.

“We may not need it to hold long. Just long enough,” Mary mused. “Billy, can you to get me to the lab? I’ve got an idea.”

“Fast as my wooden legs can carry me, Miss Mary,” Billy replied, scooping her up.

“I love it when she gets an idea.” John grinned, hitching a ride on the wooden footman as well.

Mycroft turned from the window as Anthea stretched, the timbers of her form creaking from unuse.

“Are you ready, my love?” he asked gently.

“More than ever,” Anthea replied, determinedly. “It’s about time there was a little excitement around here to keep a lady awake.”

Mycroft smiled softly before turning back to face the window. “Then let’s give them a night they won’t soon forget.”

 

Mrs. Hudson rolled her cart into the doorway of the west wing as unobtrusively as possible.

“Master Sherlock…” she said gently, announcing her presence.

“Leave me in peace, Mrs. Hudson,” he grumbled from the couch, his massive form curled inward, his back to her.

She frowned sympathetically, but rolled further into the room. “I would, dear...but the castle is under attack!”

He lifted his head slightly, inclining his ear toward the distant commotion outside before laying it back down again.

“Well, aren't you going to do something?” Mrs. Hudson prodded.

“It doesn't matter now,” Sherlock asserted glumly, rolling up off the couch to despondently cross the room, taking up his cello.

“But Sherlock!” Mrs. Hudson protested.

“There is only one petal left, Mrs. Hudson. Our time is at its end,” Sherlock informed her, picking up his bow. “Just let them come.”

He began to play, the notes mournful and longing.

Mrs. Hudson huffed out a sigh, watching him sadly. “We will try to buy as much time as we still can.”

Sherlock continued to play, facing the rose on the balcony, not pausing to acknowledge her response as she rolled out the door.

*****

“Put your backs into it, boys!” James shouted, rallying the men beside him as they gave the battering ram another heave against the heavy doors of the castle.

With another mighty blow, the doors gave way, sending the mob stumbling forward into the entryway.

Setting their battering ram down, James lead the way inside.

The villagers grew hush as they took in the eerie stillness of the cavernous foyer filled with an odd assortment of furnishings.

“Dismal looking place, isn't it Eliza?” Angelo commented to the dark haired woman skirting the edge of the group a few paces from him.

She looked about the room pensively, answering him with a shrug before turning her attention to the tapestry on the wall, hanging back from the rest of the crowd.

Kitty, on the other hand, did not hesitate to inspect the table at the center of the room for anything worth pilfering. She leaned over curiously to examine the intricate candelabra on the table; its base depicting a tender moment between a soldier and a young woman.

“Tacky little knick knacks,” she muttered to herself.

“Did you hear that, my love? I do believe she just called us tacky.” The metal soldier turned to his lady love, offended.

“I believe you're right, my darling. We cannot tolerate that,” she said sweetly. She then drew his sword, swinging it to a point right under Kitty’s nose from her place on the table and shouted “Everyone attack!”

Kitty reeled back in shock with a high pitched shriek as the objects around them sprang to life and the room fell into chaos.

Footstools ran about their feet, tripping them as the end tables spat the contents of their drawers in rapid succession into the faces their neighbors.

Across the room, a teapot poured hot liquid from above over the unfortunate heads of anyone standing below, while the cutlery worked in tandem in a feat of acrobatics, catapulting each other towards the crowd.

James’ eyes went wide as he narrowly dodged a punch from the coat rack, pulling one of his cronies in front of him to take the blow instead. As the frenzy heightened around him, he seized his opportunity to slip away and continue the hunt on his own.

Making his way to the far stairwell, he caught sight of a mantle clock adorned in a bicorne hat, brandishing pistols from its perch atop the armoire that stood on the landing of the main staircase. He winced at the sound of wood hitting flesh as the armoire batted away any that dared try to ascend further into the castle and quickened his pace up the forgotten steps.

 

Sherlock stood on the balcony, mournfully watching the horizon.

A sound behind him drew his attention from the snow covered landscape. As he turned, he came face to face with a dark haired man pointing his musket at him from across the balcony, an air of self-righteous confidence about him.

“You must be be the beast,” he commented drolly, cocking his weapon. “Heard a lot about you. The name is James Moriarty. I’ve come to avenge my bride.”

Sherlock blinked, the last few words striking him to the core. He turned back to look out over the horizon. It couldn't be true...

“What's this then? Oh, no. Were you in _love_ with her?”James laughed callously at Sherlock’s pained expression. “How pathetic.”

A shot rang out as a searing pain ripped through his shoulder, the force knocking him forward over the balcony railing onto the rooftop below.

The sheriff jumped down after him in pursuit.

“Did you honestly think she’d want _you_? When she could have someone like _me_?” he stalked forward, kicking him to punctuate insult with injury.

Sherlock rolled over with each blow but made to move to get up, resigned to his fate.

“What's the matter, beast? Too kind and gentle to fight back?” James mocked. “It's almost too easy. Oh well...”

As James aimed his rifle, Sherlock heard a cry from the courtyard below. He looked down. There in the snow was Molly gazing up at him, her golden dress like a beacon in the night.

“Molly?” Sherlock breathed.

The sight of her filled him with a renewed hope, giving him the strength to fight for his life.

He turned and shot out a paw, taking hold of the long barrel of the gun, pushing it away until it was parallel with James’ shoulders between them.

James’ eyes went wide as Sherlock stood to his full height, towering over him. Fear was soon replaced with a look of bloodlust in the sheriff's eyes as they began to grapple with the gun.

*****

A shot rang out through the air as Molly rode through the open wrought iron gate to the castle grounds. Her eyes snapped up at the sound, catching sight of Sherlock as he tumbled from the balcony of the west wing.

“Sherlock!” she cried in agony, urging Toby forward.

She watched in horror as she saw James pursued in attack, his musket glinting in the moonlight as he took aim.

“No! Stop!”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she saw Sherlock look her way, rising to his feet to struggle the gun away from James, sending it careening away onto the lower roof.

Ripping her eyes from the scene, she dismounted and sprinted across the snow toward the west entrance.

Sparks flew from within the castle. The villagers cascaded out of the doors as a trail of gunpowder and assorted pyrotechnics ignited behind them; many with teardrop shaped blades lodged in painful looking, if not fairly benign places on the their person.

Coming to the doorway, the members of the castle celebrated their victory. A soot streaked John embraced Mary, whose metal skirt was now missing a layer, as Mycroft smiled satisfactorily at the disappearing crowd.

“And stay out,” Mycroft commanded, his face held high with pride.

*****

Above, James and Sherlock battled their way along the rooftop, dodging and exchanging blows as they climbed across the wet, uneven terrain of carved stone and shingling.

His musket out of reach, James took up a broken gargoyle, wielding it like a club.

Sherlock fought to wrestle the makeshift weapon from his opponent. Locked in the throws of their struggle, his footing slipped, sending them tumbling to a lower level, the impact of the fall breaking them apart.

Taking advantage of James’ momentary disorientation, Sherlock slipped into the shadows, hiding among the statues that lined the rooftop.

James shook his head and took up his weapon, searching for his foe amidst the darkened roofscape.

“You’ve put up a good fight, I will give you that. But playtime is over. Make no mistake about it, beast. Once I’ve killed you, one way or another, Molly will be mine!” James swung at a promising looking shadow, breaking the head off of the carved marble statue.

Sherlock snarled and pounced from behind, catching James off guard. Knocking the stone club from his hand, Sherlock seized James by the shirt, holding him aloft over the edge.

“Woah, getting a little frisky there,”James gasped, struggling to keep himself up.

Sherlock extended him out a little farther, causing James to squirm. “Alright! Alright! Don't hurt me. I’ll do anything you want. Anything! Just don't hurt me, beast. Please…” James begged.

And in that moment, Sherlock was reminded of his own pleas for mercy so many years before.

Slowly, he brought James back over the rooftop to safety, holding him up at eye level. “I am not. A. Beast,” he growled evenly before releasing him. “Get out.”

Sherlock turned away in disgust as James stumbled back.

“Sherlock!” Molly called out, leaning over the balcony of the west wing above him.

“Molly.” Sherlock smiled at the sight of her.

Determined, he scaled the stone wall of the tower to her, Molly’s hand outstretched to him. His heart soared as he reached the balcony ledge, meeting her warm brown eyes once again.

Awestruck, he extended his arm to gently caress her hair. “You came back.”

She smiled, cradling his arm in her own.

Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain gouging through his side.

James laughed wickedly as he removed his  dagger, now smeared with Sherlock’s blood, preparing to strike another blow.

As he reached back, the stone that held him aloft began to crumble in his grasp. Scrambling for a better hold, his foot slipped, sending James plummeting to his demise.

Molly gripped Sherlock tightly to herself, preventing him from falling as well. With all her strength, she helped him over the railing, easing him softly back to lay on the stone floor.

Sherlock gasped for breath as he gazed up at her, struggling to speak. “You-You came back.”

Molly reached to stroke his hair comfortingly, surprised by the disbelief in his voice.“Of course I came back. You're my friend. We're friends. I couldn't let them…If only I’d gotten here sooner. I tried to stop them Sherlock, I--”

Sherlock shushed her apologies, trying to sooth her, wincing at the effort. “Maybe...it’s better this way,” he managed.

“Don't talk like that. We’re together now. Everything's going to be fine,” Molly encouraged, putting on a cheery tone. “You're going to be fine. I just need to get some pressure on this and bandage you up. You’ll be right as rain in no time, you’ll see.” Molly pressed her hand desperately to his side as she looked about for something to wrap around his middle.

“Molly, please. Just...stay with me,” Sherlock pleaded, removing her hand from his side to hold it to his heart.

“Sherlock…” Molly whispered, tears brimming in her eyes.

A wistful smile crossed his lips as he reached up to caress her cheek, wiping away a fallen tear. “At least I got to see you...one last time.”

His eyes drifted closed as his head fell back against the stone.

“No,” Molly sobbed. “No please. Sherlock, please don't leave me. Come back.”

Behind them, the last petal fell from its stem, fluttering down slowly.

“I love you,” Molly whispered, laying her head on his chest, over his heart.

In its glass shrine, the petal settled and shriveled among the rest collected at the base.

*****

The members of the castle raced inside to tell Sherlock of their victory as fast as their diminished forms could carry them.

“Hurry now. No time to waste,” Mycroft encouraged, climbing the steps.

As he made his way up the third step, John gasped in pain.

“John?” Mary asked worriedly, turning back.

“It’s my leg. It's seized up...I-I can't move it,” he explained.

“Hold on, I’ll pull you up,” Mary offered, coming to his aid.

“Where’s Anthea?” Mycroft wondered nervously.

His eyes fell on Anthea’s frozen form in the entryway. “Oh, no...Anthea, darling.”

“I can't wake her, sir,” Billy said, his voice quavering. “I think something is wrong. I…”

Billy’s voice caught in his throat and his limbs went lifelessly still.

“John…” Mary said worriedly, her arms stiffening around him as she tried to hoist him up from behind.

“Hop on the cart, dears. You'll be alright. Just a little further and…” Mrs. Hudson encouraged, her voice faltering as her cart rolled to a gentle stop at the foot of the stairs.

“Mary…” John whispered, turning to meet her eyes as they both faded away to nothing more than metal statuettes.

“No…” Mycroft breathed, turning back down the steps in a futile attempt to help. His wooden body began to spasm, stiffening with each tick of the clock that had become a part of him; his laboured steps soon coming to a halt, frozen in place on the stairs.

*****

“No please. Sherlock, please don't leave me. Come back...I love you.”

As Molly clung to Sherlock’s form, her sobs filling the night air, a hooded figure stepped forth from the shadows, unnoticed.

The dark haired maiden watched as Molly cradled her brother, the repercussions of her  deeds laid out before her.

Her expression unreadable, she waved her hand over the rose, dissolving the glass surrounding it and reviving its petals, sending them swirling about on a gust of wind.

The winds grew stronger, whipping Molly’s hair about her face. She sat up as a light began to shine around Sherlock, his body lifting in the air before her.

Molly watched in awe, shielding her eyes as Sherlock levitated in front of her, a blinding light streaming from his limbs.

His wounds closed as fur gave way to flesh, his features shifting and changing amidst the glow and swirling petals.

Slowly, the wind died away, setting him back down.

Satisfied with what she saw, Eurus turned and left as quietly as she came, the echo of a soft smile on her lips.

Molly hesitantly reached out a hand towards the strange figure before her, but withdrew it as he began to stir, startled by the movement.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, his back to her.

His shirt hung loosely about his tall frame, the lean muscles of his back and arms visible underneath as he moved gingerly to inspect the long, elegant fingers of his hands. One of those hands traveled to the crown of soft black curls that covered his head.

Suddenly he turned to face her, meeting her gaze with eyes a strikingly familiar shade of blue-green.

“Molly?” he said hesitantly, his voice a soft, rich baritone.

“Sherlock,” Molly gasped, smiling as she rushed forward to meet him.

A shy smile bloomed across his lips as she reached up to touch his hair, his cheeks, taking in his almost ethereal features. His eyes never left her face as he watched her expression, waiting, hopeful and uncertain.

Molly met his gaze once more, beaming up at him. “It’s you. It’s really you,” she breathed giddily, throwing her arms about him.

She felt him relax against her touch, a contented sigh of relief escaping his lips as his arms encircled her, readily returning the embrace.

Finally, he pulled away enough to look at her, cupping her cheek in his palm as he studied her face.

Slowly, he dipped his head towards hers, his lips hovering above her own before she inclined her face to meet him.

His mouth pressed against hers in a tender kiss as he cradled her to himself reverently, his passion growing as she eagerly returned his affections.

There in the safety of each other's arms, they felt the warmth of a new dawn as the sun broke over the horizon, the west wing restoring itself around them.


	11. Certain as the sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reveling in being human again and reunions, our tale finds it storybook end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This last chapter is basically just a ball of fluff. So much fuzzy, fluffy feelings. There's a lot of hugs ahead. So many hugs. It's kinda ridiculous... 
> 
> Thanks for reading and coming along with me on this self indulgent fic. And for waiting patiently during the gaps in between chapters. You're the best!
> 
> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. Will fix them as I find them.  
> As always, I'd love to hear from you in the comments! 
> 
> Now on to the sugary sweet, ultra fluffy fairy tale ending...

Mycroft gasped as the breath returned to his lungs. He breathed deeply, having almost forgotten the feeling. The ability to simply _breathe_ again. It was glorious.

He smiled, sighing in relief as he realized the soft ticking that had sounded incessantly in his ears for so long had finally ceased.

He looked down to see the stairs--now much farther below him than before--beneath the his polished shoes, his pocket watch shining as it dangled from his waistcoat.

Mycroft yanked the watch and chain off of his person with a grin, tossing it away with almost childlike abandon.

He looked up excitedly only to immediately turn his head with a groan as he caught sight of John and Mary in a heady embrace on the stairs.

“For heaven's sakes you two,” he reprimanded, hardly suppressing a laugh.

The couple looked up at him, smiling unashamedly.

“Mycroft, dear,” he heard Anthea say sweetly behind him.

The instant he turned around she collided with him, crashing her lips to his as she jumped into his arms. He caught her instinctively, stumbling back a step as her voluminous skirt enveloped him.

“Speak for yourself, your highness,” John chuckled with a smirk, helping Mary to her feet as she smoothed the front of her dress.

Anthea waved John off in playful dismission, only bothering to break their kiss when Mycroft eased her feet back onto the floor.

Weaving her arms about his neck, not yet willing to let go of her fiancé, Anthea smiled up at him brightly. “What do you think about having chocolate covered strawberries on our wedding cake?” she asked.

Mycroft hummed, his head still gloriously dizzy from her unanticipated affections. “That sounds like absolute perfection,” he replied, lifting her left hand to his lips.

“Not five minutes of being human again and you two are already discussing wedding feast courses,” Mrs. Hudson laughed, shaking her head.

“Let them talk about whatever they like. I’m just happy to be able to put my arms down.” Billy tossed his hat in the air with a flourish. He paused thoughtfully for a moment before asking, “...Do I still have to sleep in the foyer?”

“Not unless you want to,” Sherlock interjected from the top of the steps, hand in hand with Molly.

“Sherlock,” John gasped.

“Hello John.” Sherlock smiled as he descended the stairs.

John ran up the steps to meet them, throwing his arms about Sherlock’s shoulders, bringing him down for a hug.

Sherlock chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he wrapped his arms around his friends torso in kind. “Were you always this short?” he wondered amicably.

“Don’t ruin it,” John replied, squeezing his shoulder lightly as he pulled away.

“You look much taller to me,” Molly told him. “Then again I suppose that isn’t hard, all things considered…”

John chuckled and pulled her in for a friendly hug as well. Pulling away, he took her hands in his and bowed deeply to her. “You saved our lives,” he told her gratefully.

A flustered laugh escaped her at John’s act of adulation, urging him back up with a familiar, reassuring squeeze of his hands. Blushing slightly, Molly looked up at Sherlock, a shy smile on her lips.

Sherlock beamed down at her, reclaiming her hand as John ushered them down to where everyone was gathered.

Mycroft stood at the bottom of the stairs, ready to receive them. “We all owe you a great debt, Miss Hooper. Or perhaps Molly is a more appropriate address now, given the circumstances.”

“I’d like that very much,” Molly replied warmly. “It is good to see you restored to your proper selves.”

“Yes, well,” Mycroft smiled slightly, almost playfully. “I had every confidence in your timing.”

Molly suppressed a giggle as John sputtered in wordless delight at Mycroft’s choice of wording.

Sherlock chuckled as well, more at his friend's reaction than his brother's attempt at humor, and nodded respectfully to him. “Mycroft.”

“Brother mine.” Mycroft nodded in reply, winking subtly at Molly as he wordlessly dismissed the couple.

 

Mycroft smiled to himself as he watched Mrs. Hudson fuss over Sherlock, maternally attempting to fix his hair while Molly, Mary, and Anthea greeted each other like old friends. It was a touching scene to behold. _From a safe distance_ , he thought as Mrs. Hudson attempted to remove some miniscule smudge from John’s cheek.

As he watched his friends mingle, a hint of movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention from the display of mirth. Yet when he turned there was nothing there. In years past he might have brushed it off as something he’d imagined, but now he chose to follow his instincts and slipped away from the party.

He found her in the barn, readying her horse.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked casually.

Eurus paused, turning toward him, not at all surprised that he had found her.

“He’s not ready to see me again. Not yet,” she replied, calmly turning her attention back to the straps of her steed’s saddle.

“No,” Mycroft agreed. “Perhaps not.”

He came to stand beside her, adjusting the pack across her mount’s back. They worked wordlessly together for a moment before he finally added softly, “I am sorry…For...”

“I know,” she said, saving him the trouble. “Me too…”

“Yes, well...I suppose it all worked out in the end.”

She met his eyes with a sad smile, the two of them finding an understanding in the silence far beyond what their words could convey.

“Will you tell him?” She asked. For a moment there seemed to be a glimmer of hope in her eyes.

“When he is ready,” Mycroft assured her. Then hesitantly he asked, “Will you return?”

Eurus considered this before finally nodding. “When he is ready.”

Mycroft nodded, accepting this as all the answer he would receive from her. He struggled to find the words to express all that he felt, all that he wished to say to her. There were so many years of unresolved issues, so many complicated emotions to unpack...

Instead, he carefully wrapped his arms around her and brought her to his chest. “Then until then, be well, sister mine,” he murmured sincerely.

She remained stiff in his arms at first, but just as he was about to release her, she slowly lifted her arms, returning the embrace as she buried her face in his lapels.

Eurus cleared her throat as she let go and stepped away, her eyes bright with unshed tears. She smiled, truly smiled, patting his shoulder before she wordlessly mounted her horse.

Mycroft nodded to her as she glanced back at him, riding across the courtyard and into the forest as golden sunlight bathed the horizon.

 

*****

Greg smiled as he approached the castle, this time in the light of a warm, sunny day, wedding present in hand.

He could not help but marvel at the flower bedecked halls as he wove quietly in among the other guests, making his way to the ballroom. Even without the help of the enchantment, the grand event had been pulled together in a matter of a few short months. Then again, nearly every craftsman in the village had found themselves generously employed in its efforts. He could scarcely recall if he had ever seen Angelo bake a cake so large as the one he had prepared for the occasion.

Greg nodded to the baker in question from across the room as he passed him, busy assembling the twelfth tier of the confection.

A familiar voice drew his attention away from the towering sugary structure.

“Molly!” Greg greeted with a laugh, throwing his arms open to embrace her. She hurried across the floor as fast as the elaborate mass of red and cream florals of her bridesmaid’s gown would allow.

“Look at you,” Greg remarked as they pulled away, looking her over.

Molly laughed, “Would you believe this is the simpler version that Mary and I finally talked Anthea into?”

He hummed appraisingly, his expression dubious. “I suppose. At least I’m able to see over your hair.”

“A fact for which I am eternally grateful,” Molly sighed, relieved at the mere thought of not having the weight of an opulent hairpiece, her hands going subconsciously to the simple crimson ribbons woven into her locks.

“As am I,” Sherlock chuckled as he joined them. He smiled warmly as he lifted Molly’s hand to his lips, placing a chaste peck on her knuckles, though he held her hand aloft in his, holding her eyes as he informed her quietly “I’ve long held that with your radiance, nearly all adornments become superfluous.” He straightened, reluctantly relinquishing her hand as he remembered their present company. “How is sheriffhood treating you, Greg?”

“Very well, thank you,” Greg replied, with a modest chuff of laughter. “Still getting used to the role, but most everyone has been supportive of the change.”

Sherlock nodded. “A welcome change of pace I’m sure, given that your predecessor was blackmailing half the village.”

A heartier laugh escaped Greg this time. “It certainly doesn’t hurt matters. We’re doing our best to keep things fair. Keep the balance of power in check as we keep each other accountable. Dimmock is in charge of things while I’m away.”

“I can’t imagine he’ll have much to do. Nearly everyone is here.” Molly glanced around at the crowd filtering into the ballroom.

“True,” Greg agreed. “But I’ve learned never to underestimate the ability of two farmers with a boarder dispute to give you a splitting headache.” Seeing John and Mary approaching, Greg waved for them to join them, changing the subject. “But enough of all that. I understand there are congratulations in order. When can I expect to see the two of you making the trip down the aisle?”

“We are hoping next spring,” John replied, resting his hand lovingly on his fiancée’s as she entwined her arm in his.

“And nothing quite this grand,” Mary added. “All the stress over the miniscule details these past few weeks have left me positively queasy.”

Sherlock looked Mary over as if puzzling something together. “You may want to consider a sooner date,” he said, half to himself.

“Why is that?” John asked with a curious chuckle.

Sherlock cleared his throat, realizing he had found himself ahead of his friends and had let slip something that perhaps he should not have.

Attempting to recover from his mistake, he replied quickly, “Well, Mary being a lady of some societal status, it is possible that waiting for a spring wedding could result in a few raised eyebrows, not that you should care one way or the other. Your position is far more common than some like to believe. In fact, many a country bride have found themselves in Mary’s position... On second thought, forget I said anything.”

Molly linked her arm with Sherlock’s, pressing her lips together in an attempt to control her expression.

“Sherlock, I just remembered Anthea asked that you confirm the arrangements with the musicians. Due excuse us a moment.” She flashed a smile at their friends who both stood dumbstruck while Greg stood with his hand over his mouth, desperately trying to conceal a grin. Leading Sherlock away by the arm, she added sincerely, “So happy for you both.”

Once they were a safe distance away, Sherlock’s shoulders relaxed. He looked down to see Molly chuckling to herself, shaking her head slightly.

“You knew too, didn’t you?” he ventured.

“I had my suspicions,” Molly confessed. “There will be a new Watson in these halls by the summer solstice by my estimations.”

“That soon?” Sherlock arched an eyebrow, glancing back over his shoulder.

“You sound doubtful,” she teased.

“No, as always, Molly, I trust your medical opinion. I’m just...surprised. I suppose.”

Reaching the area where the string quartet was set up, Sherlock nodded to Billy as he glanced over the stack of sheet music set on his stand. He made a sound of approval, finding everything in order.

Molly laughed as he wasted no time spinning her into his arms and onto the dancefloor.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to get used to surprises,” she told him in mock seriousness. “I’ve found that life is full of them.”

“Is that so?” he wondered playfully.

Molly giggled, settling herself a little closer in his arms as he twirled her about. “Yes. I’d never in my wildest dreams imagined that my life would bring me here, and yet here we are.”

“Here we are,” he murmured in blissful agreement.

“And there is nowhere else I would rather be.” She smiled up at him.

Sherlock smirked, pulling her gently away from the dancefloor. “I can think of a few places.”

“Sherlock, we are at your brother’s wedding feast,” she reprimanded with a giggle. “We can’t just leave.”

“Just a quick trip down to the lab to check on the cultures progress. They’ll hardly know we were gone.” He flashed her an excited, beseeching grin.

Molly felt her resolve fading fast under the weight of Sherlock’s entreating gaze.

Her smile widened. “Well... if it’s for science, I suppose a few moments away wouldn’t hurt.”

He chuckled and brought both of her hands to his lips, holding them tenderly. “I love you.”

 

From across the room, Mrs. Hudson watched as the happy couple snuck out of the ballroom, laughing like school children.

“Where do you think they’re off to?” Greg asked, handing the older woman her drink.

“Oh, on to another moment in their happily ever after,” Mrs. Hudson replied.

“You suppose they’ll be so lucky?” he wondered, hopeful.

“Yes.” Mrs. Hudson nodded emphatically. “In fact, I would go so far as to say we all will.”

Greg smiled. For the first time in what felt like a long, long time, such a hopeful sentiment did not seem so far fetched. Not even for him…

“Cheers to that,” he replied, clinking his glass with hers.

And she was right.

The End.


End file.
